Free Love's Blazing Ecstasy by Kathryn Kramer Page A

a giggle as their father began to chant over the food.
    Tyrone closed his eyes as he gave thanks to the gods for the bounty of the grains, before them, for the nectar of the water of life. It was at this moment that Farrell could wait no longer to taste the tart fruit and stretched out his hand to snatch a handful of the bright red berries. Without pausing, Tyrone glared at his errant son, who seeing the fire in his father’s eyes, quickly put the fruit back.
    There was less conversation during dinner than usual as each family member reflected on the meaning and renewal of life.  Though Wynne also kept her mind on the ceremony, once or twice her thoughts wandered to Valerian.  She assumed he had reached his soldiers by now. When the family had finished eating, both Isolde and Wynne went to dress in their finest gowns of gold and blue, colors that symbolized the summer sky.
    “You look so lovely, Wynne,” Isolde whispered. “Oh, that I had your beauty.”
    Wynne wore a midnight blue under gown that almost reached her ankles, and a sleeveless over-gown of gold. She had braided blue ribbons into her two plaits. Her belt was of gold, as was her neck torc, bracelets, and finger rings. Like many of her people, she would go barefoot so that there would be nothing between her and mother earth.
    Again Wynne thought longingly of her father. “This will be the first festival in which I have not helped Adair don his white robe, nor anointed him with the sacred oil from the leaves of the oak tree,” she said to Isolde. The anguish she felt at the anger displayed at their parting still tore at her heart.
    In sympathy Isolde gently touched her shoulder. “ Give your father time. He will again welcome you to his fire. The punishment will not be severe. Our people are just. It is only his hatred for the Romans which blinds his eyes and causes him to shun you.
    Wynne nodded.  “His hatred is strong. He fears that they seek to destroy our ways.  If only he could see as I do that they are not all evil.”
    “You are thinking of your Roman,” Isolde answered with a smile. She also feared the people from the South, yet if Wynne loved one of them, they could not be too fearsome. The memory of whisperings she had heard came to her mind. “Tell me, is it true what I’ve heard that they worship their gods inside large lodges?”
    Wynne nodded her head. “Valerian told me that their gods are kept in dwellings they call….temples.” For a moment Valerian’s face came to her.  She recalled the look on his face when first he had seen her bending over him. “He thought me to be one of his goddesses—Minerva,” she said softly.
    “Minerva,” Isolde repeated, then shook her head. “How could these Romans believe that the gods are in human form or believe the great forces which created this world and the stars beyond could be worshipped in manmade dwellings? It is strange.”  Isolde laughed and picked up her comb, running it through her blond curls. For the moment each woman was silent as they continued in their preparations for the night’s ceremony.
    When at last the night descended upon the earth, Wynne followed Isolde to the sacred oak grove. In the clearing Wynne could see the white-robed Druids assembled and wondered which of the figures was her father. Each Druid carried the golden sickle, which was used to cut the sacred mistletoe, and which had become a symbol of their power.
    Wynne felt Isolde taking her hand, and grasped it firmly, joining in one of the three circles of worshipers in the grove. Three was the magical number to her people, symbolizing birth, life and death, a never-ending circle which continued throughout eternity. Death was only a sleep, and when that sleep came upon one, it would be but a brief time until the spirit would be born again to a new body.
    “And so it begins,” Isolde whispered reverently.
    “Never-ending. One eternal circle….today, tomorrow, yesterday, and forever,” Wynne replied,