‘That sounds very profound,’ Alexander told me, patting my arm. ‘Why don’t you stay here out of the cold? Nearchus will take care of the horses. Yovanix and Axiom will fetch the men in the wagon, and Anoramix and I will get Paul and Cerberus.’
I did as he suggested. I didn’t want to leave the relative warmth of the cave and go into the forest, where at least twelve centimetres of soft snow blanketed the ground. The rising wind sent flakes whirling and falling through the air. The tall trees were nothing but black shadows now, and low feathery clouds nearly hid the moon.
Chapter Twenty
I decided to cook dinner. I filled a large caldron with fresh water and set it to boil. Then I inspected the cave. The sleeping quarters were next to the fire. Sacks of dried peas, lentils, a crate of apples, onions, garlic, flour, and an earthenware jar of honey were in the storeroom. Salted hams, sausages, and salamis hung from the ceiling. A large amphora of wine stood against the wall. The wine inside it smelled like pine. The Greeks had weird taste in wine, sometimes they salted it, and sometimes they sweetened it with honey. At times, they grated cheese into it, added handfuls of flour, and boiled it into a sort of primitive fondue. I put lentils, onions, and a slab of fatty bacon into the boiling water and added a handful of dried thyme and some garlic.
I stayed away from the doorway with the skulls. Their eyes seemed to follow me as I walked around the cave, so I sat by the fire, my back to them.
Axiom, Nearchus, and Yovanix came back with the other men, stomping the snow off their boots and shaking their cloaks off outside. Yovanix sat as far away from me as possible, but he did murmur something nice about the smell of the lentil stew.
Nearchus went to examine the skulls. I heard him tapping them with his fingers, trying to dislodge them. ‘These skulls are certainly set in the stone tightly,’ he said admiringly. ‘Who did this work?’
Yovanix shrugged. ‘No one knows. They have been like that since the cave was discovered by the first of the old ones. The carvings were here too. All was as you see now.’
‘What do the carvings mean?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know. Many believe they are necessary for the initiation. When you drink the wine and inhale the sacred smoke, the carvings seem to move. It’s as if they become the sea, the wind, the grass moving, snakes, or even smoke spiralling up to the heavens. Everyone sees something different. However, all say the carvings lead you through the doorway.’
‘And then?’
‘And then you are initiated.’ He made a face. ‘I am but a slave, I have never taken part in the rites.’
‘Have these men?’ I asked, pointing to the two men sitting cross-legged by his side.
‘Yes, they are both druids. And the three men who are guarding the moon’s child have been initiated also.’
‘Can a woman take part in the ceremonies?’ I asked.
‘Women are not druids, nor are they priestesses.’
‘Are women sacrificed?’ I asked.
‘Of course! Every summer a virgin must die.’
‘Oh?’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘Is she initiated so that her soul may go to the green meadow paradise as well?’
‘Yes, the rites last nearly all year. The girl goes through the whole ceremony.’
‘And then she’s killed.’ My voice was raw. ‘How awful. I can’t imagine anything worse than knowing you’re going to die on a certain day.’
‘There are far worse things.’ Yovanix tried to explain. ‘The girl is treated with great respect. She is the most important person in the village. And in the spring she goes to the green meadow.’
‘Bullshit,’ I said in English.
Nearchus, who’d learned that word, winced. ‘My Lady, I think we should speak of other things. It is wise to let the beliefs of others alone.’
I was chastened. Nearchus rarely spoke, and he never contradicted me, but his navy-blue stare was implacable. ‘Be quiet,’ it was saying, ‘you’re not going to change anything.’
The stew started to bubble. I stirred it. The aroma made my mouth water.
‘Mummy!’ Paul flung himself into my arms, and Cerberus rushed around, barking and making a mess with his snowy paws.
‘Are you all right?’ I grabbed his shoulders, looking intently at him. His nose was pink with cold, but otherwise he seemed fine.
‘Of course.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Oh, that smells wonderful, when can we eat?’
Anoramix took a ham from a hook and cut off slivers of smoked meat for us to nibble on while we waited for the stew.
Three other men came into the cave and stood shyly in the entrance. I was glad I’d made plenty of stew. Anoramix motioned them in, and we crowded around the fire. There was only one chair, but animal skins covered the floor, so we were comfortable. Baskets held cloaks, blankets, eating utensils, and bowls. The fire burned in a large fireplace, and the smoke went up the chimney and didn’t swirl around the cave. When we were all inside, Anoramix went to the entrance and pulled a heavy leather curtain across it, shutting out the cold and the snow. In a few minutes it was very warm in the room, and I felt my muscles relax.
‘That’s better,’ said Paul, sitting cross-legged in front of the fire. Cerberus had his head on Paul’s lap; his yellow eyes narrow slits as he stared at the flames. ‘I was kept in a cage! I think they believe I’m a monster.’ He shook his head. ‘It was scary at first. When I woke up, I was in a wagon. Luckily, Cerberus was with me, otherwise I might have cried.’
I thought the trails of tears down his dirty cheeks argued poignantly for crying, but I didn’t say anything. I just leaned over and gently wiped his face with a damp cloth. ‘You must have been terrified,’ I said.
‘I’m mostly hungry,’ he admitted. ‘Besides, I knew that my father would save me.’
‘Well, he did save you,’ I said, smiling at my husband.
Alexander tried to look modest, but although his face was the most eloquent one I’d ever seen, modesty wasn’t one of his expressions. ‘I had some help,’ he told Paul.
‘Shall we eat?’ I asked, lifting the lid off the pot and letting the fragrant steam escape.
We ate from clay bowls with spoons carved from bone, and I didn’t ask whose bones. I was too hungry.
Afterwards the Gallic men played a game of knucklebones.
I had to go to the bathroom, but I was reluctant to leave the warmth of the cave. The toilets were outside, of course. Before going to sleep, I made my way through the dark and the snow to a small outhouse. At least there was an outhouse.
Anoramix went to a large wooden chest and pulled out an armful of fur rugs that were to wrap up in to sleep. Most of them were from sheep, a couple looked like wolfskins, and all of them smelled like the animal they'd belonged to first. I put my face into Alexander’s neck and tried to breathe as shallowly as possible. Everyone was snoring loudly, even the dog, and everyone smelled awful, especially the dog. He must have rolled in a dead animal. I wondered if I could find a bunch of dried thyme in the dark and sleep with it crushed to my nose, but I was afraid I’d step on someone.
Morning finally came, and Anoramix opened the curtain and let a draft of icy air into the cave. I took a deep breath. It was the first one I’d taken since the night before. I felt stiff, dirty, cold, and I longed to take a bath. Why couldn’t we go back to Julius’s farm and float a while in his heated pool? I wondered if Alexander would consider that. I made the mistake of asking him within earshot of Anoramix.
‘No,’ the druid told me firmly. ‘You must prepare yourself for the ceremony tonight.’
‘I won’t take any part in a ceremony that ends in bloodshed,’ I told him. ‘I refuse. You can’t make me,’ I added defiantly.
‘You must. Please. We need you.’ His voice was incredibly seductive and gentle. I could see where he wouldn’t have too much trouble convincing people to follow him.
‘Don’t make me a part of your sacrifices. I don’t believe in your religion or in killing. I have no powers.’
My voice was strained. I meant what I said. I was starting to feel nauseated at the thought of watching men die.
‘You must learn the chants. You were sent to us because you are the only one who can sing them.’
‘What chants?’ I asked. But my skin prickled. I remembered what Apollo had told me, far away in a smoke-filled temple in Siwa. ‘The Chants to Persephone,’ I whispered. And I knew I was beaten.
‘Let me show you something,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’
I put on a warm cloak and pulled on my boots. Paul and Alexander were playing on the slope, making a snow fort. Cerberus was barking at a squirrel. Axiom was speaking to Yovanix, and Nearchus was busy helping the other men gather firewood.
Anoramix and I took a narrow path through a grove of huge pine trees. The path led to a brook, which we crossed on a stone bridge. Then we continued through the woods.
This was part of the primeval forest, uncut since the beginning of time, sacred to the druids and gods of Gaul. There were pine, oak, ash, and beech trees, and all were taller and more massive than any I’d ever seen. We followed the path uphill through the giant trees for nearly half an hour before reaching an opening in the face of a cliff. Anoramix disappeared within, and I could hear his footsteps become suddenly amplified. ‘Come,’ he called. His voice boomed.
Chapter Twenty-one
I stepped inside. The cave was immense. From outside, its enormity couldn’t even be guessed. I found myself in a vast cavern.
There was light. Torches flicked from sconces on a wall. Anoramix took one and held it above his head, showing me size of the place. Then he pointed to his right.
I had never seen original cave paintings. I’d only seen photographs in glossy pages of books. What I was seeing now had nothing to do with photos. Vibrant and alive, the animals seemed to leap off the walls.
I stared, losing all sense of myself as I followed Anoramix through time, back further than any of the Time-Travellers had ever gone. Back to a time when man and nature were so close, that with simple handfuls of clay and charcoal, our ancestors had created a masterpiece. The paintings made me shiver. They were so true to life and full of raw energy that the animals seemed to say, ‘See us? We were here before you. We existed before any of you even dreamed of us. We are still alive here on this wall, and we will be here long after you’re gone.
The beauty of the paintings amazed me. Nothing I’d ever seen compared to the power of these animals. They leaped, galloped, and breathed with nostrils flaring. Their eyes blazed with life.
We walked slowly toward the back of the cave. There were horses and bison, bears and lions, wolves and rhinoceros … and handprints. Human hands. Shivering, I raised my own and pressed it against one that was eye level. The hand was slightly broader than mine, the fingers somewhat shorter, but it was a powerful, graceful hand, and it had created a masterpiece.
I pressed my hand to the stone and closed my eyes. I would have given anything to be present while the artist had been at work. I tried to picture the man painting, his bare shoulders gleaming in the torchlight, his hands deft as they wove their magic. However, there was a deep secrecy about the paintings. I was filled with a sense of disquiet and awe. The man had worked alone, and the images were not for all eyes. Perhaps only the chosen ones could see them, the priests and priestesses of that ancient time. Or were they decorations for a ceremony? I didn’t know. The paintings spoke, but in their own tongue, and it was a language more akin to the snarls and whinnies of animals than of the words we used. I stepped back and looked, holding my breath, trying to hear the sound of hoof beats.
Anoramix took my arm and led me further, and there he showed me the bones.
They had been carefully arranged. The skulls sat on top of crossed femurs and placed over the rest of the bones, which were stacked in a strict order. At least twelve layers of skulls stared at me. The ones at the bottom were yellow with age, the bone turning brown around the eye socket and jaw. The skulls at the top were white and gleamed faintly in the dark. They seemed to be grinning happily at some secret joke they all shared.
I felt no sense of horror. It was strange, really, but I felt completely dislocated from place and time. I felt separated from the living; like the bones, sitting and staring for all eternity at the paintings. For that was what they were doing. Lined up in perfect rows, arms folded beneath their chins, they watched the wild animals galloping across the cavern. Smiling dreamily, eyes vague, seemingly lost in tranquil contemplation of a stunning masterpiece, I almost felt as if the bones would answer if I spoke to them, or that they were speaking to each other.
‘Nice artwork. I love the rhinoceros.’
‘My favourite one’s the doe, with the fawn at her side.’
‘I like that one too, but she had better watch out, there’s a lynx above her, on a branch.’
‘Oh yeah, I didn’t see that!’
I smiled; my imagination running away with me.
‘Hush, there’s a stranger in our midst, can you feel the shift in time?’
I jumped. ‘Did you say something?’ I whispered to Anoramix.
In the torchlight, his face had deep shadows and resembled nothing more than one of the skulls. ‘It is the old ones. They speak if you listen. Soon I will join them.’
‘This is no green meadow,’ I said, my voice wavering.
‘It is a doorway. From here one can go back and forth. The meadow is beyond utter darkness and unimaginable fear, but for the initiate the journey is easy. So easy that one can come and go at will. From the gate, the old ones can see who is coming next and welcome them. It is the same principle as the doorway in my cave. The skulls set in the stone are guardians, if you like. They pass the message back and forth from the afterworld to the newly dead, helping them find their way.’
‘And they can admire the paintings,’ I said faintly.
‘Let me tell you what happened when I was initiated,’ said Anoramix. ‘It happened here, in this cave, with the old one whose name I will not say. You can see him now; he rests on the top over there, the closest to the wall. You can greet him if you like.’
I looked at the pile of bones and saw a new skeleton, still pearly white and shiny. ‘Hello,’ I said. My voice cracked.
Anoramix looked amused. ‘On the first night we were in the darkness. No light showed us the way, the paintings were hidden, the bones too. I drank kykeon; a ritual beverage made of water, barley groats, and pennyroyal. Afterwards, I was shown the sacred objects hidden in the basket. I was allowed to touch them.’
‘What were they?’ I asked.
He smiled. ‘The sex of man and woman, made of baked, glazed clay. I was told they were made by the first old ones for the rites, and I have no reason to disbelieve this. Then I put the sacred objects back, and said these words; ‘I fasted, I drank the kykeon. I took the objects from the basket again and after accomplishing the deed, I put them back. Then I placed the basket in the hamper and took it out again. Then I put it back.’ We have to do everything in just the right order. We chanted, sang, and then I was led out of the darkness of the cave.’
‘What deed did you accomplish?’ I asked. There were some parts of the ceremony he’d left rather vague.
He looked sideways at me and shook his head, a grin on his face. ‘I think you can imagine what one does with sexual organs. I don’t need to show you, do I?’
I caught a trace of laughter in the air. I imagined the skulls chuckling too. ‘Were you initiated then?’ I asked.
‘No, not yet. The second night we came back. As before, the darkness was complete. I was surrounded by fear that time. I was pushed roughly into the cave and all around me were the chants of evil. There were malevolent beings in the cave that night. They sought to frighten me away. Even the bones took part in the ceremony. They would suddenly glow with an unearthly, greenish light that came straight from Hades.’ He shuddered with the memory. ‘I thought my heart would burst or that I would shame myself. Deep terror filled me. D
eath, I thought, could be no worse than this. Finally the fear passed. When I stopped feeling anguish and stood up straight, a torch lit up, and the light was like a revelation. In the centre of the cave was the torch burning, but not held by any mortal hand. It lit up one perfect, golden ear of wheat. Your mother’s sign. The other torches were lit, and the old ones invoked Demeter and Persephone. Listen now to what the old ones told me.’ His voice dropped several tones and became low and mysterious.
‘“The soul, at the moment of its death, feels like those who are initiated into the Great Mysteries. At first it wanders, lost, through detours and endless dark windings, frightened and alone. Before the end, the terror, the shaking, the cold sweat, and the horror are at their greatest. Then, suddenly, a golden light appears. One passes through the darkness to an endless meadow where singing is heard, where dancers can be seen, and sacred words are spoken. A deep respect and reverence is felt. Thus man, now initiated and perfect, becomes free. He has celebrated the Mystery; he is crowned and lives with pure men and saints. He watches as the uninitiated toil through the mud and the darkness, afraid of death. They struggle to escape their fate, rather than believing that death can set them free. The only true happiness comes in the afterworld.”.’
His voice stopped but there were strange echoes, as if a chorus had spoken with him.
I shivered from the intense cold. It leached through the stone walls, and I noticed a faint sparkle of frost on some of the bones. I was silent, but not because I had nothing to say. Questions jostled for position in my mind. I wanted to know so much more. ‘What about women?’ I asked finally.
‘What women?’
‘Is your paradise only for men? You speak of initiates; can initiates only be men? What about women? Aren’t we good enough for an afterworld?’ I asked.
He raised his eyebrows. Surprise made his eyes round. ‘Women don’t need to be initiated,’ he said. ‘You, who make life, must understand death better than we can ever hope to. It is through women that the chain of life continues. Backward in time, however far back you go, it is by women that the link is forged. And forward, through you and your daughters. Can you feel it? The initiate enters the past, the present, and the future, and he finds it through the woman. You are made of the same clay we men are, but there is something already sacred about you. You have the power to make life. Nothing we can ever learn can equal that.’
Chants to Persephone: The Future of the World Hangs on a Knife's Edge - and Only a Human Sacrifice Can Save It Page 12
