Archdruid carrying the Great Sword of Wales into the Gorsedd.
Today and during the primary ceremony of the world renown ‘Eisteddfod’
of Wales, the Archdruid and the members of the Gorsedd of Bards, gather together
on the Eisteddfod stage in their ceremonial robes. When the Archdruid reveals
the identity of the winning poet who wins this year’s seat of the ‘Bard’, the
‘Corn Gwlad’ (The nation’s horn) calls the people together and the Gorsedd
Prayer is then chanted by all. The Archdruid then reverentially half-draws the
massive sword-of-Wales from its sheath three times. Each time he part-draws the
glittering blade, he cries ‘Is there peace?’, to which the assembly reply;
‘Peace’.
The Horn of Plenty is presented to the Archdruid then by a
young, local and married woman who urges him to drink the ‘wine of welcome’. A
young girl presents him with a basket of ‘flowers from the land and soil of
Wales’ and a floral dance is performed around him, based on an ancient pattern
of flower gathering from the fields. The Gorsedd ceremonies are unique to Wales
and the National Eisteddfod, reflecting a culture and tradition that stretches
back millennia. The modern-day declaration of peace has been toned-down from
the stark choice of Peace or War in historic times and my fictional piece which
follows, describes how I think the earliest of these ceremonies may have unfolded.
Caled-Sol (hard-sunlight) Belenos Hên's ancient, sacred sword which took the head of Bran the great 500 years before this fictional ceremony.
Two cornwr began to blow the familiar notes of assembly then
and all attention was brought back to the blackened clearing, now emptied of
the celebrating royal families. HênDdu stood grimly in front of his altar in
the dead centre of this circular, spiritual porthole of blackened grass and his
three supporting Druids took their positions behind him, for the most vital and
final part of this historic assembly.
“Now draw near all who consider themselves honourable
Prydeinig and who have an abiding love of our sacred islands of Prydein!”
HênDdu called out, his strange voice somehow carrying to every corner of this
huge plain and the people closed-in with the tension mounting, as the ultimate
ritual drew near. The Arch-Druid Einion turned and lifted Belenos Hên’s sacred
and ancient, spirit-wreathed sword Caled-Sol
reverentially from the blood-splashed altar and passed it with a curt bow to
his master. HênDdu’s face became animated as he took the iconic sword and
turning back to the crowd with it outstretched before him, he presented the most
revered blade in all Prydein’s long history with a savage pride.
The sun-sculpted and utterly beautiful, bronze scabbard had
been polished until it shone like old gold and the Druid held it in his left
hand, the fingers of his right fastened around the sharkskin grip of the
sun-adorned pommel and he raised ‘hard-sunlight’ to the heavens.
“Now draw near all our honoured and much-worshipped Deities,
who so also love these scared isles of Prydein to witness our great Datganiad Gwladol!” He called loudly
before turning and presenting this sacred, legendary sword to all four corners
of the world and to all who watched with bated-breath. HênDdu then slowly
part-drew the polished steel blade before lifting his noble head and his
tonsured brow glistened in the torchlight but it was utterly outshone, by the
vital gleam from just the first six glittering inches of honed steel revealed.
“'Y gwir yn erbyn y byd, a oes
heddwch neu rhyfel?”
HênDdu asked them loudly with a scowl and his challenge boomed out over the multitude
of heads and shining eyes gazing back at him. ‘The truth against the world, is
there peace or war?’ he demanded to know, and the response was like a clap of
thunder;
“RHYFEL!”
Birds squawked and flapped in fright and the dogs of the
distant Tref could be heard barking and howling at the thunderous sound, which
seemed to vibrate in the air for long moments. The Brif-Druid stalked around
his altar now in his bare and blackened feet, energised by this first
declaration of war and he paced this scorched saucer of earth, holding up the
great part-drawn sword. His eyes blazed with challenge and the front circle
backed away in fear as he withdrew another twelve inches of etched and polished
steel and hard shards of torchlight bounced off Caled-Sol in alarm.
“Calon wrth galon, a oes heddwch neu
rhyfel?” ‘Heart to
heart, is there peace or war?’ he challenged them again now, his tremulous but
uncannily powerful voice carrying to even the outer fringes of this vast
gathering and the people shook the earth again with their sacred oath.
“RHYFEL!”
HênDdu smiled then horribly in a kind of spirit-gripped
rictus, as his voice deepened and grew as it lashed across the heads of these
people, whilst their dogs continued their barking and eerie howling from the
distant Tref.
“Gwaedd uwch adwaedd, a oes heddwch
neu rhyfel?” He
demanded of them lastly, with a wild look in his blazing eyes and spittle
flying from his twisted mouth. ‘Shout above responding shout, is there peace or
war?’ He demanded they complete the rite and the very air shook with the
inviolate declaration of war, as thousands of voices screamed as one;
“RHYFEL!”
The Druid came back around to the front of his altar now and
HênDdu’s face was a mask of fierce, blazing outrage as he fully withdrew
Caled-Sol the fabulous blade of Belenos Hên, which had claimed the mighty head
of Bran himself five centuries ago. He held it aloft, so the torchlight flashed
off the full glorious length of its deadly blade and illuminating on it, the
wondrous chasing with pure golden swirls and all eyes were drawn to its stark,
terrible beauty.
“Ia, oes RHYFEL!” HênDdu confirmed loudly and war was thus
declared on Rome.
The bedlam that ensued was a religious, superstitious
explosion of emotions and the ground shook as the triadic warriors of Prydein
hysterically screamed their warcries, drowning all other sounds, even the
terrified howling of the dogs. The drums began to pound a frenetic beat again,
the horns bellowed and the Brythons danced their dance of death, as the
northern kingdoms finally united in a sacred Triad for the first time ever,
were going to war.
Undeb - triadic unity!
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