I say this here and now, to illustrate Morgan’s special place in my Mother’s heart.
I have always felt that my Mother secretly wished that I was more like Morgan, at least in terms of devotion to the Gods. Always that is, since I have known that The Lady of the Lake was my Mother.
My Memoirs...
Since Morgan has asked that I write my memoirs – if you will pardon my Languedocien expression – I have been delighted by the task.
I am called an Enchantress of the Isle of Apples. I was never to obtain Mother of Wisdom status in The Order and, to be true, I cared not to. In fact, I have never considered myself to be a very religiously inclined person. The level of Enchantress I did attain – by the skin of my brow.
There did come the Time though, when my continued learning of the Mysteries was to take a turn into a far different direction.
Some say that I enjoy intrigue and adventure to excess. What is excess?
My histories – if you will – will be truthful, on pain of embarrassment... all the more adventurous, no?
Perhaps my Mother knew me better than I had thought she did, when I was a young and rebellious girl. For I had always placed more value upon my own will, plans, and desires, than upon any obligations to – or needs of – others. Yet, in the outcome, my Mother had plans for me. And in me she was to place great trust.
My Mother’s plan...
I was to leave the Isle of Apples to travel incognito through the Mainland of the Eastern Continent, thence to find the fortress of my Mother’s Mother, which lay in the heart of King Merovech’s Southern lands – with the ultimate goal of being granted admittance into the court – and confidence – of my Grandmother, Queen Vivianne.
The gaining of my Grandmother’s confidence, most especially regarding the closely guarded and accurately kept genealogies of the families and blood lines of Yosef of Arimathea and of Miriam of Magdala – who, it is claimed, was the “companion” of the King, Yeshua Ben Yosef – was not an easy task.
I was always to wonder how my Mother had attained such wealth as she lavished upon me and my endeavours abroad... Was it from her Grandmother’s Tribe? Of course, I had heard the stories of the almost limitless wealth held by the Old Dark Ones... Could this really be true? Or was the Order really that wealthy? And was our Order – and not only my Lady Mother Vivianne – financing my espionage for some benefit to which I was not privy?
Perhaps it was entangled with the royal bloodlines of our new King, Arthur... And did my Mother have a plan beyond that, which I could ever know?
So, when my journey was to begin, I purchased Horses to ride and pack, which would take my company to the Sea. Also, I procured Clansmen mercenary guards to protect my person and property – in the case we were to encounter trouble along our way.
We took the route toward the Eastern Sea, which would lead us through Hengist’s Saxon territories. As we were at tentative peace with his people, I felt it safe enough to do this.
We stayed amoung them for the span of two Moon Dances. Quite hospitable they were. Jolly folk.
I Loved hearing their tales of the Bandersnatch and other monsters and otherworldly realms such as Alfheimr, the world of the Elves; Jotunheimr, the realm of Giants; Nioavellir, the land of Dwarfs; Muspelheim, a world of Fire; and Niflheimr, a world of Ice and Mist into which the wicked dead are cast and so many more tales...
From them I bought beautiful golden and silver torques, rings, braces, goblets, plates, and many other things wrought by their excellent Metalsmiths.
I also bought nine beautiful cloaks – embellished with Saxon embroidery of Wolf’s heads and fierce rampant white Horses. Fox tails, Wolfs claws and teeth, and strips of Horse hides were laced to their shoulders. I never knew whether these were talismans of protection, or for extra warmth. Regardless, they were gorgeous!
With all of these to sell I could easily pass as a wealthy Merchant.
When we arrived at the shore of the Eastern Sea, we sold the Horses we had bought for our travels.
My Mother’s plan was in the works…
The Voyage...
When we were wont to cross the Eastern Sea, it was deep into the Time of Red and Gold Leaves... I learned that this could be the worst season of the year to sail – few shipmen had the heart to do so. Finally, we did find a hardy bunch who agreed to attempt it – albeit for three Times the usual cost of the crossing!
We could not just sail straight away from the Eastern shore of Briton to the continent, for that would have landed us in a very dangerous country of the Gauls – for, as of late, they were ever fighting amoungst themselves – each for domination of the other’s land. No, we would not chance that. And so we angled South, then Southeast toward the Southernmost Gaulish lands, to shore at the closest port of Bordeaux, from whence we would travel overland through the Aquitaine to the territory of the Bergundian Affalonians. This route made the crossing many Times the length it would usually have been.
The passage was beyond a Nightmare...
A great storm arose; a gale of such magnitude that it seemed as though the thick dark Sky was boiling. The swells of the tempestuous main rolled and heaved, hurling up waves taller than the ship, crashing the bows and washing to their depths men and cargo alike – pulling and drawing all to their Watery grave – all but that which was securely tied down... Everyone who could was bailing Water, even were my own guards. It was a terror!
Everyone began to beseech their Gods... Even the seasoned Saxon Shipmen yelled – arms outstretched to their Thunder God, Thunor, to save their ship and their lives, lest they die not with sword in hand – and thus be not accepted into Woden’s halls.
Above the roaring Chaos, I heard one man who bellowed –
“All-Father Woden, save us...
Let us die not in disgrace...
Lest we be doomed to a wat’ry grave
If Thee turn away Thy face...
Weel our eyen ne’er seen your halls
With our feet not on the ground?...
Like weed o’ the Sea, ne’er aught we be
White bones lying – they be drowned...
Let our good wives ne’er be taken
Nor raped, nor slain nor bound...
Let our children ne’er be orphaned
With nay guidance to be found...
Let our names ne’er be forgotten
So wandering souls we be...
Let our bodies be not eaten
By the Giants of the Sea...”
I even heard, above the roar, some of the more Roman of my own guards calling out to their Lord of the Sea:
“Oh Neptune, oh Poseidon,
See how thine Ocean raves
We call three Times, we toll three chimes...
Toward thy mighty waves...
Ride thy gilded chariot with Horses white of foam...
Ascend thy dark realm’s secret depths...
Above thy Kingdom’s dome...
Raise thy mighty Trident, oh Ruler of the Sea...
Three pointed tines, three Magic Times
Command the swells to silent be...”
All my own thoughts were disgorged from my very core and vomited out through my mouth, along with whatever contents of my stomach were left, until there was naught else but yellow bile... then nothing... but for the empty violent retching.
But somewhere, through it all, I do have a glimpse of a memory... Did I truly sing out with a Siren’s voice, to calm the Chaos to peace, as I was later told? If so, it did not work.
The old Sailors had known what was coming. They had bound themselves with thick ropes to the masts in the center of the deck or to anything sturdy, in hope of saving life and limb.
I, too, was tied with a rope to some part of the ship, so as not to be dragged off into the unfathomable Deep.
I was not bailing. Only was I was vomiting uncontrollably. I had been doing so even before the storm, at the first rocking of the ship. That was when I knew that I had the Sea sickness.<
br />
Oh, what a bother this has proven to be. But perhaps it was what saved me from murder – for the superstitious men began to stare at me with murderous eyes. Then one voice called out: “She is the cause of this tempest... A witch... An Enchantress of the Isle of the Old Dark Ones!”
Then another... “I weel do it... throw ‘er overboard I weel!”
Then the Ship’s Master yelled above the howling noise, “She is not causing this, you fools! Look at her... She is about to die from the Sea illness. If the tempest was her doing, well, we would be dying, not her! And she would be fine! Stop praying! Keep bailing!”
For hours we were ravaged like this, tossed this way and that. The wooden hull of the ship was groaning with so much stress that I could hear it above the roar. I do remember thinking that perhaps the groaning was from some Great Sea Monster of the Darksome Deep, calling us to our Watery grave.
Then thought I...
“Nimue... for shame... if you are going to die, at least drown with dignity! You do not believe in Monsters as do these simple-minded Saxons.”
But, I did believe that surely the ship would crack to pieces at any moment. However, it did not. And it seemed as if from one moment to another the storm passed us by. The Sky brightened, the Water calmed and we were alive.
So weak from vomiting and retching was I that I was just hanging from the ropes tied around my stomach and arms. I could not stand on my feet. I felt terrible pangs in my stomach and my head ached as though an axe had rent it! I could not tell how much of this was from being bound by the ropes or how much was from my violent illness.
The Shipmen untied me, avoiding my gaze in shame... I must have looked like Death herself. Someone tried to give me Water and I vomited again, then wine, and again. Then they let me sleep. I had Nightmares of Water Dragons and huge Serpent-like Eels – I hate Eels – and Visions of Mer Folk with canine teeth tearing at my flesh.
Finally I awoke.
One of my personal guards was holding me up to a part sitting position and cooling my fevered forehead with a fresh cool cloth of Water.
“You are safe now, my Lady. We are to shore. Please drink some of this broth.”
So I did. And as soon as we offed the plank, I held it in.
This man’s name was Owen. He was a kind man, a gentle of heart man. I liked him. I looked into his eyes and laughed.
He said, “What makes you laugh, my Lady?”
“I suppose…” said I, “I missed my chance to really see a Water Dragon.”
Owen laughed with me. “Oh, Gods! You have beautiful green eyes!”
On a windless Day, we had actually landed in Southern Gaul. So we found lodging, care for our wounds, and baths – Roman baths. AAH!
Never had I felt so grateful…
Before the Ship’s Master left, I gave him a golden torc, as an offering of my gratitude for his saving my life, and for his excellence in ship mastery. He gave me a hearty Saxon toothless smile. He was grateful to be alive too.
Nimue the philosopher...
We rested for two weeks, at which point we were approaching the worst of the Winter weather. I was unused to being at leisure for such a long period. On the Isle of Apples everyone’s hands were busy all of the Time. Not that we did not play, but even then, there was activity.
However it is different for those who had reached our “Dark Moon” Wise Mother initiation. They had frequent and long rests – periods of seclusion. These were for meditation and journeying into the Otherworlds.
Whilst speaking of the “Walkers,” I will mention here that there are a few of them – who are not so highly elevated within the Order as to have been taught these methods, but who were “chosen” by the Spirits Themselves. Mostly this “Calling” comes in young adulthood – but to some while yet children. Their works are the same as those which the High Mothers practice in their Trances. In addition to those works, they Divine future events, find lost objects, Animals or people, and locate the herds for the hunt. Oh, yes, and they “En-Chant the Dying to Rest” and help the newly dead – who might not yet realise that they are in fact dead – to peace. Some of these young ones can even reunite people with their own lost “Spirit Pieces.” One such of these “Walkers” is Morgan of the Woods.
I suppose the Christian Mystics accomplish these same works – as do the Magi in other traditions. Walkers are as old as Humans themselves and are in all the known cultures of the world, or so I have been told.
I believe this is how the Mysteries have arrived in the hearts of Humankind. For this work of gaining the Mysteries is one of the primary works of these Walkers.
It is even said that the plants and herbs – or actually their Spirit forms – revealed their Healing functions to Walkers. I suppose this is where the Healing Arts began and how all knowledge of the Mysteries and sciences came to people in the beginning... then this “first knowledge” was honed into various Mythic Rites suited to fit each culture.
I also believe that the old stories of the sunken Island and the one hundred boats bringing all true Cosmic Knowledge to people of the Four Winds, is but a metaphor for the work of the Walkers.
Vivianne says that I am too much of a realist. Well, probably so.
Of The Druids...
In the past there were many Women’s Orders affiliated with the Druids’ Mysteries. They were part of great scholastic centers. Most of the women who lived and were taught at these were of the Clans, our close neighbors. We honour their Wisdoms as they do ours.
We, of the Old Tribes, on our Isle in the Inland Sea, are the last and only school of our Order. But long ago, there were many.
Time rushes by and the old is lost or assimilated, and the new glimmers brightly, until another yet newer Philosophy comes along. This is happening now to the Druids – and to the Order.
Enter the Yeshuites...
Long and many years ago, a few early Yeshuites came to the Isle of Apples. These, it is told, were very kind and Mystical people. Some of them still remain in the lands of the Britons.
But then my Ancestors heard it written upon the Winds that things began to change amoung the Yeshuites in Rome.
History says that:
First they began to argue amoung themselves as to the very nature of Yeshua – should he be King, Prophet, or God? – and of the place of women in their religion.
Next, emperor Constantine in the Roman year of three hundred and twenty-five, or so, beyond the birth of Yeshua, had a “Vision” to create a new Roman religion – and to proclaim it the only legal – or permitted – religion in the entire Roman Empire.
Long before Emperor Constantine, the Romans thought the Druids a political threat in our lands.
It was said that the Druids taught subversion to the Clans of the Britons – who held them in highest esteem – and still counted their say as final law.
So the Romans tore down their Universities, cut down many of their Sacred Oak Groves, and put all the Druids they could find to the sword.
This is still impacting the Druids, even to our Day, for it is said that many of the Druidic Priesthood are becoming Cymric Christian Monks. Although I hear that their Druidical ideas and ideals have been interjected thoroughly into this non-Roman Christian Church.
This is why The Ceasar of Constantinople and the Pontifus Maximus of Rome sent Germanus of Auxaire to our land to quell the so-called “Pelagian heresy.”
Now, Pelagius was the great leader of this Druidically inspired Christianity; teaching these ideals to a great many followers. So, at the Pontifus Maximus’ order, Germanus – backed by The Caesar’s own troops – under his royal standard of the Purple Dragon, held a great meeting regarding Pelagius.
As the legend goes, Thirteen Druids – two of which were women – were questioned by Germanus and his Roman court, as to the nature of some of their teachings, philosophies, and social structures, so as to compare these to Pelagius’ teachings.
The findings of this Tribunal council were: That many of th
e Pelagian teachings were identical to those of the Druids. Such as: that the sexes should be equal to each other in honour and law. Also, this “heresy” taught the doctrine of transmigration of the soul and that Humans could come to Spiritual Ascension, or a state of goodness, by their own works – not only by the grace of God – thereby effectively denying the need or purpose of the Human sacrifice of Yeshua as redemption for their imperfection and the inborn sin of all of Adam’s decedents. Man, he taught, was a perfect reflection of God and therefore was not flawed.
After the “trial” and all the great fuss, Pelagius was murdered as a heretic.
However, I do not know, nor can anyone guess, how all will come to be in the future. There are certainly fewer Christians amoung the Britons now, than even two generations ago. And the tides of people’s hearts have turned back to the old Gods and the old ways. But, will it remain so?
Ah... There, you see what happens when I even think about resting. Vivianne says that my thoughts never stop; that they are like the buzzing of Bees on a Mid-Summer’s Day.
She is right, of course. I suppose it was the best thing for me to leave the Order. I think my own thoughts too much. And to be true, I think that I am not like the other Enchantresses. I crave adventure and challenge. And I am wanting in the devotion, yes, even the spirituality of the others. I crave the things of this world. I know that Vivianne saw this in me and knew that I would never be meant for a monastic life.
So now I will serve my Mother in the way that she has asked of me. Even though I really must interject here that I personally could not care any less about ancient bloodlines or their more ancient origins.
I do realise that this idea of being a High King means a lot to Chieftains and military Dux, their people, and to my Mother – who hopes that The Merlin’s Arthur will unite in peace all the factions and peoples of the Britons and of the whole Island, as far as even into the old Picti lands. Of course, I wish this mighty and noble plan of theirs works. But as for me, I will believe it when I see it come about.
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