keep her eyes the same. You’ll be seeing Anwen in fifty years’ time. If your stomach still lurches with joy to look into her eyes, even though her soft-cheeked youth has evaporated to leave an aged husk; if your breath catches with delight to know that she loves you, even though in your mind her once-firm skin hangs under her chin and her shining hair has become brittle and colourless, then it’s possible that you will love her for the rest of your life.”
“I’ll try it. But maybe not when we’re in bed!” Ragnall laughed heartily.
The old man chuckled. The horses plodded on through the warm morning, across open farmland and into shady woods.
“And how will I know that she truly loves me, and not my wealth and position?”
“Ah, that’s much easier. Do you have the pick of your father’s flock?”
“I should hope so, after all these years away.”
Drustan wafted an inquisitive bumble bee away from his beard and returned his hand to the reins.
“Slaughter the third-best sheep. Make sure Anwen knows you are doing it for her. Have the best shawl made from its wool and the best boots from its skin. Give it all to her. Ask her which part of the animal she likes best to eat and have it cooked by Boddingham’s best cook. Ten days later, slaughter the second-best sheep and do something similar with its skin – perhaps gloves and a hat this time. Nine days later announce your plan to have the best sheep killed for her.”
“I can’t kill all of my father’s sheep.”
“You need kill only two. When you say you are going to kill the third sheep, if she loves you, she will beg you not to. ‘Please,’ she will say, ‘stop wasting your wealth on me. It’s my turn to treat you.’ She will offer to make you a stew of mushrooms or a linen shirt – something that is an effort to her and no cost to you. If she does that, she loves you.”
“If she doesn’t?”
“Do not kill the third sheep, break the engagement and find a woman who loves you and not your wealth.”
“Hmmm.”
“If she really loves you she will stop you even before the second sheep.”
“What if she lets me kill the third sheep, but my desire to bed her is so strong that I keep her anyway?”
“That, my dear Ragnall, would mean that you are a young man who, like all young men, ignores the wisdom of his elders and will spend the rest of his days regretting it. Old age may look impossibly far away, but looking back it will seem but the blink of an eye since you married a woman with an ugly soul because she once had a beautiful body. And you will hate her and you will curse yourself for marrying her.”
“Right.”
“I know you are not paying me any heed, Ragnall. I can warn you over and over, but it will make no difference because you are a young man with beauty, strength and the firm belief that you know better than anyone who has ever trod Britain’s green fields before you. In reality you have the judgement of a sex-starved billy goat with a head injury. When you are old and wise, you will see what a fool you are now, and you will see life’s cruellest joke.”
The horses’ hooves clopped on the stone road.
“Which is?”
“By the time you realise what a wonderful gift youth is, you no longer have it.”
“You’re wrong, Drustan. I’m already fully aware of how wonderful life is. I know myself.”
Drustan coughed out a short laugh. “You don’t. Men will know the ways of all the beasts and the gods before they know themselves. The only way men or women can know themselves is if there’s almost nothing to know. If that was the case, however, they wouldn’t have the nous to know even that.”
“I thought you knew everything, Drustan?”
The old man smiled. “The wisest man or woman is but a child poking a stick into a rock pool next to a boundless ocean below an unending range of mountains. Which is why, Ragnall, it would do well for those druids who think they can explain everything to take their heads
“I’ll try it. But maybe not when we’re in bed!” Ragnall laughed heartily.
The old man chuckled. The horses plodded on through the warm morning, across open farmland and into shady woods.
“And how will I know that she truly loves me, and not my wealth and position?”
“Ah, that’s much easier. Do you have the pick of your father’s flock?”
“I should hope so, after all these years away.”
Drustan wafted an inquisitive bumble bee away from his beard and returned his hand to the reins.
“Slaughter the third-best sheep. Make sure Anwen knows you are doing it for her. Have the best shawl made from its wool and the best boots from its skin. Give it all to her. Ask her which part of the animal she likes best to eat and have it cooked by Boddingham’s best cook. Ten days later, slaughter the second-best sheep and do something similar with its skin – perhaps gloves and a hat this time. Nine days later announce your plan to have the best sheep killed for her.”
“I can’t kill all of my father’s sheep.”
“You need kill only two. When you say you are going to kill the third sheep, if she loves you, she will beg you not to. ‘Please,’ she will say, ‘stop wasting your wealth on me. It’s my turn to treat you.’ She will offer to make you a stew of mushrooms or a linen shirt – something that is an effort to her and no cost to you. If she does that, she loves you.”
“If she doesn’t?”
“Do not kill the third sheep, break the engagement and find a woman who loves you and not your wealth.”
“Hmmm.”
“If she really loves you she will stop you even before the second sheep.”
“What if she lets me kill the third sheep, but my desire to bed her is so strong that I keep her anyway?”
“That, my dear Ragnall, would mean that you are a young man who, like all young men, ignores the wisdom of his elders and will spend the rest of his days regretting it. Old age may look impossibly far away, but looking back it will seem but the blink of an eye since you married a woman with an ugly soul because she once had a beautiful body. And you will hate her and you will curse yourself for marrying her.”
“Right.”
“I know you are not paying me any heed, Ragnall. I can warn you over and over, but it will make no difference because you are a young man with beauty, strength and the firm belief that you know better than anyone who has ever trod Britain’s green fields before you. In reality you have the judgement of a sex-starved billy goat with a head injury. When you are old and wise, you will see what a fool you are now, and you will see life’s cruellest joke.”
The horses’ hooves clopped on the stone road.
“Which is?”
“By the time you realise what a wonderful gift youth is, you no longer have it.”
“You’re wrong, Drustan. I’m already fully aware of how wonderful life is. I know myself.”
Drustan coughed out a short laugh. “You don’t. Men will know the ways of all the beasts and the gods before they know themselves. The only way men or women can know themselves is if there’s almost nothing to know. If that was the case, however, they wouldn’t have the nous to know even that.”
“I thought you knew everything, Drustan?”
The old man smiled. “The wisest man or woman is but a child poking a stick into a rock pool next to a boundless ocean below an unending range of mountains. Which is why, Ragnall, it would do well for those druids who think they can explain everything to take their heads
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