‘Must have done. We can’t find any more.’
‘I’m surprised you’re not dead.’
Hywel raised his head from the ground and dragged his eyes towards the Arch-Druid, eyes that looked like they had been pickled in honey, just before the bees found out where it had all gone and came to take it back. ‘I think I am,’ he groaned.
The Arch-Druid simply tutted in that way he had. The way which could make the Gods feel inadequate. ‘We have a task for you,’ he went on, ignoring Hywel’s condition.
‘A task, a task,’ Lypolix cackled loudly and scittered about.
Hywel held up a hand, ‘Whatever it is, I’ll do it. Just get him to stop making that noise.’
‘Right,’ the Arch-Druid clapped his hands smartly together, which caused Hywel to wince and start to crawl on hands and knees back towards his hut, ‘there’s work to be done. Wulf, fetch the small cauldron from the temple compound and look for sorrel on the way back. I’ll start a fire and get the hawthorn.’
‘Aha,’ cackled Lypolix. He raised a hand in acknowledgement of the Arch-Druid’s plan and bounced off into the wood.
…
After a couple of hours of herb and plant selection and preparation, (ignoring most of the ingredients Lypolix had found, many of which were still moving), several minutes of mumbled and incoherent incantation, which Wulf tried to pick up but which he suspected were deliberately mumbled and incoherent, and another hour of careful steaming, boiling, stirring and straining, it was ready.
The villagers, having figured out quite quickly what was going on, queued up at the small cauldron to get their portion of the Arch-Druid’s famous morning-after-the-mead-before cure.
It was a famously bitter concoction. Not bitter in the way ale or some herbs are bitter, but bitter in the way it hated you. From the inside out. How anyone who ever tasted this stuff could even thinking of drinking again was a mystery.
The villagers gagged, they vomited, they screamed and swore oaths to every God they could remember that never again would they do whatever it was they’d done to deserve this. They would double their temple contributions, and do anything as long as no one made them ever put this foul distillation of purified venom to their lips again.
When they had finished thumping the ground with their fists, seemingly convinced their eyeballs were about to drop from their heads, they sat back and took deep breaths.
Heads were clear. Stomachs were settled. Appetites rekindled and a thirst for pure, clean water was overwhelming. In the space of a few short moments they started to think that actually, if the Druid’s concoction could make them feel so much better, perhaps they might celebrate midday with a small mug of mead. Except of course, as some recalled, it had all gone. They’d better start another batch.
…
‘A circle?’ Hywel asked when they were all seated round the village table, ‘a stone circle?’
This table was a magnificent piece of furniture which merited its own hut. For as long as anyone could remember it had been the place where the issues of the day were discussed and dealt with.
The myths and rumours which surrounded this magnificent example of the carpenter’s art were as dark and complex as anything the druids told. According to your preference it had either been carried down from the top of Mount Snowden by a magic goat, been sailed up the coast as a boat by a Dragon that had lost its fire, or been found at the bottom of the deepest gold mine by the God of darkness who had used it to hold the lamp of eternal night.
There was even some fanciful nonsense about it simply being some old king’s table which he used to gather his knights around before they went off and did brave deeds. But that was far too dull to be true.
Wulf thought it quite appropriate that the table was round when the subject under discussion was his new stone circle.
‘Wulf is a stone seer, which Lypolix has confirmed, and we are to make The Grand Complication, the stone circle of all stone circles which will allow us to see all there is to see. This village has the honour of putting the master stone in place.’
‘Just us?’ Hywel seemed doubtful about this being quite such an honour. ‘How big is this master stone?’
‘It is magnificent,’ the Arch-Druid explained.
‘I’m sure it is. Just how big is magnificent? Bigger than the stones we’ve got.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Wulf with enthusiasm.
Hywel’s doubt had made camp on his face. ‘And how exactly are we to put this magnificent, big stone in place? You told us the Gods and the Ancient Ones built our circle.’
That was a good point, thought Wulf. The Arch-Druid was always reminding the villagers of the power of the Gods and the Ancient Ones. It would be a bit hard to explain if the villagers were now asked to dig a hole and haul the stone about without any mystical help.
The Arch-Druid explained carefully, ‘That was that one, this is this one.’
To Wulf’s surprise, this seemed to be perfectly acceptable to Hywel.
‘Still,’ the villager frowned, ‘must take a lot of time, shifting some master stone. How are we going to get the rest of our work done if we’re all playing with stones? Crops don’t harvest themselves you know. And where are we going to get this stone from anyway?’
‘Wulf will identify the master stone, some of you will have to attend to your normal tasks while the rest work on the stone.’
‘Hm,’ Hywel did not sound convinced.
‘And of course the Gods will want to see the work progressing,’ the Arch-Druid threatened.
Wulf could see that Hywel was torn. The man clearly didn’t want to lose the time that would be needed in the coming months simply to see the village through the next winter. But on the other hand, angering the Gods was completely out of the question. From a simple boil to a hideous death, everyone knew what the Gods could do if they felt like it. And the Arch-Druid was the only protection.
Wulf thought perhaps a bit of encouragement might help.
‘The stone will be big but I’m sure we can manage,’ he said with a smile. ‘and once we cover it with the gold everyone will see what a good job we’ve done, including the Gods.’
For some reason the Arch-Druid had his head in his hands.
Hywel looked at them one at a time, very slowly. A complete change had come over his countenance and he seemed to have a new found enthusiasm for the task. ‘What gold?’ he asked very carefully.
Caput VIII
The Stone of Stones.
After a surprisingly enthusiastic and rapid climb up into the hills above the village, Hywel and the Arch-Druid sheltered under the overhang of a cliff. Lypolix had wandered off to do some cackling and Wulf was scouring the hillside for his stone.
This side of the mountain had crumbled and fallen over the ages, and left a jumble of rocks strewn down its side like a runny nose on a winter morning.
Away in front of them the valley floor fell to the village, and beyond that to the woods of the Druids. They must be some one hundred and fifty feet above the floor of the valley and the climb had been steep.
Above them, drilled into the top of the mountain was a cave. The place was so far above the grass line it wasn’t even worth the sheep going that far. The stone-hunting party would certainly not bother going up there. But that was not known to the pair of eyes which looked down the hill from the cave, trying figure out what on earth was going on. The eyes had never seen so many people come this far up the hill and so it hid behind a rock from which it could observe in safety.
The weather was normal for this height; universally damp. That was also normal for all the other heights, but at least from up here you could see more of it.
Eventually Wulf stopped his fidgety questing and sat down on a flat area of bare rock.
The Arch-Druid and Hywel risked stepping out into the drizzle.
‘Well?’ the Arch-Druid asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Wulf beamed a smile which didn’t belong in this weather.
Hywel looked about and couldn’t immediately see anything which looked especially impressive.
Wulf simple patted the monstrous slab he was sitting on.
‘What?’ said Hywel, going over to join the young Druid, ‘can we see this stone from there?’ He sat next to Wulf and surveyed the landscape.
It was all very well druids saying that something needed doing, but they tended not to get involved in any of the actual doing. They did the looking on and barking out instructions.
‘You’re sitting on it,’ Wulf explained.
‘Sitting on what?’ Hywel got up and tried to look at the seat of his leggings. For a bright village leader, he was being particularly thick.
‘The stone,’ the Arch-Druid said, in as calm a voice as he could manage. ‘I think you are sitting on the stone Wulf wants.
Hywel turned and examined the stone stretched out before him. He didn’t need to do so in detail.
‘This?’ he half screeched.
‘This is it,’ Wulf confirmed with great satisfaction. ‘Of course we’ll have to give it a top dressing and remove some of the irregularities on the side, but this is the one.’
‘You are joking.’ Hywel certainly was.
‘When did you last hear a druid joke?’ The Arch-Druid asked.
Hywel knew several druid jokes, none of which was repeatable in front of a druid. ‘This,’ he gestured at the slab of rock, ‘is not a stone,’ he held his arms out to indicate the size of the thing.
‘What is it then?’ Wulf asked.
‘It’s, it’s’ Hywel struggled for a suitable description. ‘It’s the ground,’ he concluded.
‘The ground?’
‘Yes,’ Hywel was insistent, and sounding slightly hysterical, ‘the rocks and stones rest on the ground. This is what they rest on. I could build a decent size house on this thing. It’s not meant to move. If it needed moving the Gods themselves would have to come and do it.’ He was becoming positively excitable.
‘It’ll probably slide down the hill alright, once we get it moving,’ Wulf encouraged.
‘You’re not meant to move the ground. It’d be easier to leave this where it is and move the rest of the world.’ Hywel now walked the length of the stone and squatted down to estimate its breadth as it lay on the slope of the mountain.
‘There’s always a way,’ Wulf smiled.
‘No there isn’t,’ Hywel was very clear. ‘That’s a ridiculous thing to say. There isn’t always a way to do a whole list of things. There isn’t always a way to drink the sea, or fly like a bird, or, or,’ Hywel had run out of things there wasn’t a way to do. ‘It simply can’t be done.’
‘Nevertheless, we have to do it.’ Wulf was still smiling.
‘There you go again.’ Hywel had regained some of his control and sat next to Wulf on the stone once more. ‘Wulf,’ he said, sounding as if he was going to explain to a five year old that the fact his puppy had been taken away by wolves did not mean the puppy was now a wolf. Although it still meant they wouldn’t be seeing the puppy again. ‘When it’s said that something can’t be done, it means doing it is not a question of “nevertheless”. It means finding something else to do instead. Moving this rock,’ he patted the rock, ‘is a thing that can’t be done, which means we find something else to do. In this case we find a much, much smaller rock.’
‘But I need this one.’ Wulf tried a smile. ‘I can see it’s difficult.’
‘It’s not difficult Wulf,’ Hywel went on, ‘it’s bloody huge. This rock is enormous, gigantic. It will be unbelievably heavy and, and,’ he searched for the right word, ‘unmovable.’ He had found it. ‘This rock is unmovable. You cannot move an unmovable rock. You can’t move an unmovable anything. It’s what the name means.
‘And it’s no good you sitting there and going all druidic on me. And it’s no good the Arch-Druid coming in with the will of the Gods.’ He glanced at the Arch-Druid to fend him off. ‘If this rock was meant to be moved, it wouldn’t be unmovable see?’
‘But it isn’t unmovable,’ Wulf stated simply. ‘If it was unmovable we wouldn’t be able to move it. That would be madness. This rock is movable. Just not very easily.’
‘Not very easily?’ Hywel was starting to squeak again. He calmed himself and took another tack. ‘Wulf, this stone here, the one you want, is bigger than big, isn’t it?’
‘Oh yes,’ Wulf was happy to accept that, ‘it is very big indeed. In fact,’ he went on with clear satisfaction, ‘it’s quite probably the biggest stone that’s ever been moved for a circle.’
‘There we are then. He paced up and down the length of the stone. ‘I mean,’ he said, stroking his chin and sucking in his breath, ‘you’d need at least a day of digging out just to get the levers in for one end. And they’d have to be whole tree trunks. Even if you got rollers under one end and levered up the other, the whole thing would probably shift and take out whoever was at the bottom.
‘You’d need a harness pinned to the mountain and we don’t have enough rope. And of course we’re half way up the bloody mountain and we’d need every man, woman and child to get the thing done. And then we’d have to think about the casualties. No,’ he came to his conclusion, ‘sorry Wulf, it can’t be done.’
The Arch-Druid stepped up and laid a druidic hand on Hywel’s shoulder, ‘I think you’ve just described very well how it can be done. Tree trunks, rope and people. Nothing very difficult there.’
‘Apart from the fact we might have moved it a foot by mid-winter and have lost several toes, fingers and complete people in the process.’
‘It’s got to be this one,’ Wulf was apologetic for all the work this was going to entail.
‘When I say can’t be done,’ Hywel said in a very serious tone, ‘I mean it won’t be done. I am not diverting the entire village to moving this stone off the mountain.’ He folded his arms.
‘What else can we do then?’ Wulf asked. ‘The circle has to be built and this stone has to do it.’ He was stating a fact of nature.
There was a silence while they all gave the problem some thought. Or at least looked like they were giving the problem some thought. Wulf and the Arch-Druid looked like they were waiting for Hywel to change his mind, while Hywel looked like he was waiting for them to change theirs.
It was the Arch-Druid who spoke first. And he had his persuading voice in peak condition. ‘Just think Hywel. Just think what a magnificent sight it will be.’
Hywel clearly wasn’t thinking magnificent.
‘Covered in gold,’ the Arch-Druid breathed.
This did get a small twitch in the corner of Hywel’s mouth going. ‘Tell you what,’ he offered, ‘I’ll get the gold, you move the stone.’
‘This needs the toil of men Hywel,’ the Arch-Druid went on, ‘that will be part of its magic. And others will come. Word of the great stone will spread. Pilgrims, travellers, people will be flocking here.’
‘Oh great,’ said Hywel, seeing this as yet another problem.
‘And of course they’ll bring all their offerings.’ The Arch-Druid leant the word “offerings” all the charm of conversation behind a grubby tent in the market with a man who keeps his very particular products hidden in a sack – so no one sees him and runs him out of town.
‘Offerings?’ Hywel asked, part question, part naked self-interest.
‘Lots of offerings for the great stone I should think. Particularly if the Arch-Druid makes the expectation clear.’
‘What sort of offerings?’ Hywel’s eyes had narrowed to arrow-slits.
‘Anything you like, I should think,’ the Arch-Druid sounded nonchalant although he looked anything but. ‘Food for the work of the circle, precious stones for the Gods, more gold. The whole village would be ruined.’
‘Ruined?’
‘Yes,’ the Arch-Druid shook his head in reluctant acceptance of the inevitable, ‘the simple life would be gone. The place would be awash with wealth and the well-to-do. The person in charge of a village like that wouldn’t
have time to do any work, he’d have to be organizing everything. Giving instructions, talking to people, dealing with the great and the good. Making sure all the offerings were being distributed properly.’
‘All the offerings?’ Hywel’s question was as loaded as a longbow.
‘After the temple has taken its dues. Which would be modest of course.’
The thoughts in Hywel’s head were shaded, but the light in his eyes was positively brazen. He took a long time to look from the Arch-Druid, to the still smiling Wulf, to the stone and back to the druid again. All the while, the light in his eyes was building an empire that would make the Romans look like the sons of old man Gruffydd and their rat collection.
‘In fact,’ the Arch-Druid was offering more, ‘we could even say that those who moved the master stone, were excused all further work on the circle. Having done great service to the Gods and all.’
Hywel’s eyebrows now climbed his forehead with alacrity. He counted the points off on his fingers, ‘Gold, offerings, only moving one stone.’ The Arch-Druid gave an imperceptible nod. Hywel’s face contorted through his internal dispute. Eventually it cleared. ‘So,’ he concluded, ‘where exactly does this stone need to go? Not that I’m promising anything of course.’
‘Naturally,’ the Arch-Druid smiled. ‘Wulf is our stone seer. He’ll know the spot.’
‘Aha, yes,’ said Wulf, springing up, ‘I know just the place.’
‘Not too far away, I hope,’ Hywel found a scowl from somewhere.
‘Oh no, erm, not far.’ Wulf wanted to say more, but now didn’t seem quite the right moment.
Hywel peered down the hill and appraised the route from where the stone was now, to where it would end up if it simply slid down the hill. Once the entire population had spent probably the best part of a week just getting the thing moving in the first place.
‘I think we’ll need to build something at the bottom as well,’ he observed, ‘otherwise the thing could end up in that little stream. Gods know how we’d get it out of there.’
Hermitage, Wat and Some Druids Page 7
