Dublin by Edward Rutherfurd Page A

away.
      Finbarr smiled to himself. So Conall had gone all the way down to the Liffey to see that girl he had brought to him at Lughnasa. That was what his friend had been brooding about. Not a doubt of it. For once the mysterious druid prince was behaving like a normal man. There was hope for him yet.
      He hadn't hesitated to confront his friend as soon as Fergus had left. And this time Conall gave in and told him everything.
      "I think," said Finbarr with some pleasure, "that you'll be needing my advice." He looked at him hard. "Do you truly want this girl?"
      "Perhaps. I think so. I hardly know."
      Bealtaine. The start of May.
      "You have only two months," Finbarr pointed out,
      "to make up your mind."
     
    IV
     
      Goibniu grinned. All over the landscape he could see little parties of people comsome mounted or in carts, but mostly leading cattle- making their way towards the single hill that stood in the middle of the plain.
      Uisnech: the centre of the island.
      Actually, the island had two centres. The royal Hill of Tara, which lay only a short day's journey to the east, was the greatest political centre. But the geographical centre of the land was here at Uisnech. From Uisnech, said the legend, the island's twelve rivers had been formed in a mighty hailstorm. The island's navel, some people called it: the circular hill in the middle of the land.
      But Uisnech was far more than that. If Tara was the hill of kings, Uisnech was the hill of druids, the island's religious and cosmic cen tre.
      Here lived the goddess Eriu, who had given the island her name.
      Here, before even the Tuatha De Danaan came, a mystical druid kindled the first fire, whose embers had been carried to every hearth in the island. Hidden at Uisnech, in a secret cave, was the holy well which contained the knowledge of all things. At the summit of the hill stood the five-sided Stone of Divisions around which lay the sacred meeting grounds of the island's five kingdoms.
      At this cosmic centre, the druids had their conclaves.
      And it was at Uisnech also, each May Day, that the druids held the great assembly of Bealtaine.
      Of all the festivals of the Celtic year, the two most magical were surely Samhain, the original Hallowe'en, and the May Day festival called Bealtaine. If the year was split into two halves-winter and summer, darkness and light-then these two festivals marked the junctions. At Samhain, winter began; at Bealtaine, winter ended and summer took over. The eve of each of these two festivals was an especially eerie time. For during that night the calendar entered a kind of limbo, when it was neither winter nor summer. Winter, season of death, met summer, season of life; the world below met the world above. Spirits walked abroad; the dead came to mingle with the living. They were nights of strange presences and fleeting shadows-frightening at Samhain, since they were leading you to death; but at Bealtaine, less fearsome. For the spirit world in summer was only mischievous, and sexual.
      Goibniu liked Bealtaine. He might have only one eye, but he was complete in every other way, and his sexual prowess was well known. As he watched the people gathering, he felt a keen sense of anticipation. How long before he had a woman? Not long, he thought. After all, this was Bealtaine.
      By evening, there were thousands gathered in the rosy light, waiting for the ascent. There was a faint, warm breeze. The sound of a piper wound its way round the base of the hill. Expectancy was in the air.
      Deirdre glanced at her little family. Both her brothers were carrying sprays of green leaves. She should have been doing the same: it was the custom at Bealtaine. But she wasn't in the mood. Her brothers were grinning foolishly. While they were getting their green sprays, an old woman had asked them if they were going to find themselves girls that night. Deirdre had said nothing. Small chance, in her view. Such