The well-trodden turf of this great circular field was packed like a beehive this night, as royals, nobles and the werrin alike crowded around the open central performance area, revelling in the soaring and heart-wrenching emotions these professional singers could wring out of them. A comical drama always followed the concert and the audience roared with laughter tonight at the antics of the players, as they acted-out a well-known royal scandal of old, bending to pick-up their tokens of reward from the illuminated grass with their painted smiles of gratitude.
As midnight drew near, the Decawangly Druids and Druidens, their Bards and Uati emerged once more from their own pavilions in a scurrying onslaught of white linen robes. Behind this religious advance, the Beltain Bower was brought forward by their stewards and carried into the centre of the now empty performance area. This Beltain bower was a large, oval coracle of wicker made luxurious inside with linen, silks and fur and inundated with the white and yellow blooms of spring, propped-up as it was to reveal the inner cocoon of sumptuous comfort. Elk-skin drums began pounding a heartbeat rhythm from somewhere nearby and a sudden blare of horns announced the arrival of the revered virgin huntress.
This lithe young maiden had been chosen from the cherished and chaste daughters of the Decawangly nobles, to represent one half of tonight’s ultimate and obligatory ritual of continued fertility. The girl was a gifted archer and had proved herself to be the best huntress among her peers and was now painted from head to toe in the blue, mystical and ancient workings of the Uati. She was stunningly swathed in a diaphanous wrap of an almost transparent cloth, created from a light, even ghostly weave and this most feminine creation of natural beauty, wore the glittering mask of the Goddess Rhiannon the Huntress. Her lustrous chestnut curls fell around this wondrous, sculpted silver mask and her big blue and beautiful eyes stared softly from the almond eye-holes formed in the chased silver visage. As she entered the circle, a quiet hum of stunned appreciation issued from the surrounding onlookers and all eyes were glued to this beautiful Gods-sworn figure, as she moved barefoot with a lithe, cat-like deftness across the grass.
A circlet of hawthorn blossom adorned her lovely head and she walked across the circle of light in her slow and elegant step, treading counter-sunwise three times around her bower, inspecting it carefully as she encircled it. This incarnate virgin huntress was simply exquisite to behold, and she seemed to float serenely across the close-cropped turf, to step gracefully into her ceremonial bower and take her place within it. There she rested in stunning feminine repose, as the living light of the torches bounced off the mirrored facets of her silver mask. Her demeanour now however was not one of calm and patient submission, as her attitude was at once one of proud ownership of this bower and Rhiannon incarnate, exuded a fierce and challenging independence.
A circlet of hawthorn blossom adorned her lovely head and she walked across the circle of light in her slow and elegant step, treading counter-sunwise three times around her bower, inspecting it carefully as she encircled it. This incarnate virgin huntress was simply exquisite to behold, and she seemed to float serenely across the close-cropped turf, to step gracefully into her ceremonial bower and take her place within it. There she rested in stunning feminine repose, as the living light of the torches bounced off the mirrored facets of her silver mask. Her demeanour now however was not one of calm and patient submission, as her attitude was at once one of proud ownership of this bower and Rhiannon incarnate, exuded a fierce and challenging independence.
This age-old, so familiar scene was played out across the world of the combrogi at this time and it took all forms, from the crude leaf-made masks and homespun clothing of the far-flung werrin, to the dazzling opulence of a royal court here presented. Whether in a cave or a bower or a basement grain-pit, the masked virgin huntress Rhiannon would repose on a fine bed of soft bracken or whatever was available, surrounded by her spring flowers and there she would await the fated and irresistible arrival of her opponent Bel, surrounded by her priests, her family and her peers.
Bel was represented at this sacred ceremony each year by the warrior who had killed first in the early Beltain morning’s Royal hunt. Decawangly’s champion hunter of Beltain, took the form of a tall but muscular figure of a seasoned warrior, who had cleanly killed a fine stag this morning with a superbly thrown spear and in the presence of King Bryn ap Terfel himself. This warrior now wore a cape of finely spun black wool around his massive shoulders, woven with wondrous, swirling and circular designs in pure gold thread, honouring the great Sun God. This successful hunter’s powerful body was also daubed in colourful Brythonic swirls and interlocking patterns, in gold paint rather than the ubiquitous woad-blue and he wore only an abbreviated kirt of animal pelt around his narrow waist. Bel personified also wore a mask and this Cymbric Bel, wore a heavy gold sun-mask for the ritual and this glittering wonder was supported and attested by two heavy gold arm-rings, each big warrior’s bicep displaying a hammered disc of pure buttery gold mounted on them. The proud head and straw-yellow, braided hair above this stunning façade, was adorned with a glossy crown of startling green Holly, to remind all present that the Holly King so beloved by the Druids must also be represented and worshipped here.
The Holly King must be appeased and respected at Beltain, as although he is far more ancient than Druidism itself he is honoured still, as he must complete the circle of life and growth, so that all living things can grow and thrive. Here and now at the death of spring, the Holly King redeems his spiky crown which he wears with infinite honour for the rest of the year, until challenged each Yule by the old and bearded Oak King himself and in which fateful conflagration, he loses his crown of holly once more. This immutable and revolving truth has been known for uncountable centuries, from the birth of the first man and will be, until the death of the last woman and to the end of all days.
A brash and bold series of notes were heard then from a number of different horns and the crowds parted on one side of this ring, to make a living avenue for the tall and muscular hunter Bel, who entered the bright circle from the east to stop within its flickering limits. As the heartbeat of the drums and those of the rapt werrins’ increased, this golden-masked warrior dropped into a hunter’s crouch and in the exaggerated, slow movements of familiar but ritualistic tracking, he approached the stunning floral beauty of the bower and its enticing contents. His oiled muscles rippled, shining in the torchlight as he adopted a wide stance and weaving from side-to-side in a hypnotic, compelling motion, the warrior moved closer to the virgin huntress’ bower. Bel stalked around this wondrous bower three times sunwise in his halting animalistic manner, with his gold adorned muscles rippling under the light of the torches. Snuffling and sniffing the air as he stalked around it, the hunter came to face the bower’s stunning occupant.
Rhiannon sat-up in alarm and their eyes locked as Bel moved forward, infinitely slowly and deliberately, weaving his mesmerising way to face the startled, silver Goddess. Noble gold and silver met then among the blooms but not a word was exchanged between these opponents and as Bel attempted to mount Rhiannon, the age-old struggle for survival began again. This was no fawning welcome, it was anything but and brave Rhiannon joined hands with Bel, intertwining their fingers to fiercely enact this struggle for life itself and they fought for dominance in an ancient and highly stylised form, which flowed backwards and forwards, carried by the heartbeat of the drums in the most ancient of all rhythms.
This annual and deeply sacred pageant is loved by all, moving many onlookers to tears, as the two Godly representatives struggled for supremacy. As the sun subdues the stars each dawn, Bel must subdue the dazzling Rhiannon before she becomes compliant and amenable and the legendary hunter’s unchallenged strength begins to tell as the Goddess’ struggling abates and he lays with her among the bloom-scented silks and the soft, welcoming furs. The crowds were packed cheek-by-jowl into the space around this delightful bower, with those behind the front ranks craning their necks to see, as the last glowing smears of burnt sunset-red which were slashed so carelessly across the bruising sky, lit the western horizon behind these entwined and cocooned Gods come to earth, sharply silhouetting this Beltain bower of imperative procreation. The werrin were wide-eyed and mesmerised by this ceremony, as even though it was played out each and every year all across their lands, it remained a thrilling and vital part of not only their calendar, but of their deeply held religion and beliefs. In-fact their ancient cultural heritage and their entire sense of identity, were secured for eternity within these arcane rites for their offspring. Within the glowing heart of Beltain’s fiery-hot crucible, rested the future hopes of many nations each year and a huge collective sigh came from these people, following quickly and complimenting the singular and more abrupt one which ushered from the virgin huntress, as she gave up the first part of her title.
Should the shared, wonderful and holy act of procreation between these ever anonymous, ever disparate individuals produce an offspring, this revered child would be Gods’ sworn from the moment of its bloody birth into this world. From its first tenuous breath, all knew the child would be the wise, reincarnate soul of one of their most famed and honoured Druid ancestors thus returned, closing that eternal triad of life. The holy child along with its then Gods-sworn mother, would be protected and cared for by the honourable order of the Druidens, for all their lives.
The great God Bel, progenitor of Belenos Hên and his legendary lineage of Brythonic offspring thus honoured and adored, although now passing unseen across the Underworld, all were sure that Bel beamed with a beneficent protective smile for them wherever he was. All would be re-assembled and ready the following morning but facing east, to welcome and glorify Bel on his most welcomed return to the living world, whereupon he heralds the end of the dark seasons of the year with a burst of fundamental golden splendour. Just before His new dawn, even the stars will pale in early greeting and salutation as He pauses below the eastern horizon, before rising again in all His everlasting and elemental glory. All Brythons will cheer loudly in welcome to Bel on this auspicious morning and will celebrate this celestial rebirth of life itself, until the very end of days.
Sunrise over the Eildon hills.
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