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  Esmeralda’s finger quivered as she pointed toward Jesus. “You wicked sorcerer. You have cleansed the ritually unclean. There is no way to do that without magic. Elsigar shall hear of this!”

  Elsigar

  Elsigar traveled to Ynys Witrin alone, except for the company of his faithful horse. The countryside was shrouded in its wintry rest. In the last two days it had warmed just enough to melt most of the ice and snow, but the cold and damp caused dense fog to linger over the landscape, hiding the leafless trees in a dull, diffused shroud of white. He crossed the River Brue to Ynys Witrin over the Pomparles Bridge. Its name meant perilous: a well-deserved name, indeed. He could not see the path through the thick mist, which forced him to allow the horse to find his own way to the other side. He knew the Secret of the Lord, constructed by Jesus for his mother, lay to the left of his course from the bridge to the clearing at the foot of the Tor, but he passed it without spying it through the vapors.

  The fire appeared as a dim light through the mist and guided him to the gathering. Not many were yet in attendance, since the festival would not commence for another day.

  Imbolc was considered the least of the major festivals. It was not the time for the multitudes to awaken the earth at Beltane, nor time to set the earth to rest as they did at Samhain. Set in the middle of winter, it was not keyed to any major event in the agricultural cycle, such as the commencement of the harvest that the people celebrated at Lugnasad. Although it was open to all, Imbolc was mainly for the druids to gather among themselves, a sacred time for contemplation and purification.

  A dozen druids and emissaries were gathered around the fire. “I have been too long on the road today,” said Elsigar. “The damp and the cold have chilled me to the core. The fire is such a comfort.” Its heat enveloped him, brushing the chill from his hands and nose, though his bones remained icy.

  “We are honored as always to have you, Elsigar.” Esmeralda lifted back the gray woolen hood to reveal her face and flowing locks of golden hair. “I am glad our fire warms you, although I fear its power to purify our spirit is diminished this year.”

  “How can that be, sister?” She has something dark to say. “The flame of Imbolc has always purified the souls of those who partake in the feast—although I see that fewer of the people come every year. Would that more of the people knew of the power of purification from this flame.” The wood crackled. The smoke stung his eyes, but the warmth was worth the discomfort.

  “Not even the sacred fire can purify the souls of the impious, Elsigar. You have allowed an outlander to stay in this land, and we have suffered him to live in this precinct for almost a year. I know he practices a black and forbidden magic. He defiles the laws. Not even the fires of Imbolc will purify us in a season as foul as that which comes now at your hands.”

  “When Jesus came to Carn Roz as a boy, I too suspected he practiced magic,” said Elsigar. “My council and I questioned him closely. Although he was the focus of many wondrous things, we found that he practiced no magical art of his own. I have come to know him well as he has grown in stature and mind. I am not surprised he would do things ever more wondrous—things that a druid might take to be the fruit of forbidden magic. But if he is the same young man, you are undoubtedly mistaken.”

  “I think not.” Esmeralda related how she had confined Jesus to live among the lepers and how the auguries for Pilton Hollow mysteriously improved. “The elder of the village said Jesus instructed them in following the laws of his God. Jesus did not deny it. He healed this incurable disease by calling upon the powers of a god unknown to the druids. Surely that must be the practice of some dark magic.”

  “I will look into this.”

  “Do you still intend to invite him to Ynys Môn? What about his taking up arms in this precinct?”

  “Jesus was only defending his home,” protested Grengan.

  “That was impious, but understandable.” Elsigar turned to Esmeralda. “Confining him to live with lepers was cruel, but that now is over. As for the invitation to Ynys Môn, I do not know if he will even come tomorrow. He said at Samhain that he might, but maybe he will not. I will say nothing more until I speak to him.”

  The next day’s dawn brought a change in the weather. The mist lifted and burned away early in the morning. Frozen dew clung to branches and twigs, creating an arbor of crystals high in the trees that lasted until the sun melted it. The summit of the Tor emerged into the bright sunlight.

  Elsigar searched the faces of the new arrivals, mostly local people but also emissaries. There will be more than a hundred, but they will not come in thousands as they do for the other festivals. Then he spotted Jesus approaching. No longer a skinny boy, this was a stalwart young man with finely muscled arms and shoulders.

  “Shalom. Peace be with you,” Jesus said to him. “I pray your journey was not too hard.”

  “It was too damp and cold, but druids learn to abide the pains of travel as we carry our ministry far and wide across the land. We have some time before the festival starts. We should talk.”

  Jesus nodded.

  “When I was here at Samhain you told a story of how Elisha used the waters of the Jordan River to heal a gentile of his leprosy. I hear you helped the elders in Pilton Hollow rid that village of its curse.”

  “I simply helped them deal with lepers under the laws of God.” Jesus explained to Elsigar about separating the clean from the unclean, and how he had worked with them while he was in Pilton Hollow.

  “This is set out in the laws of your god?”

  “Yes, it is in the book called Leviticus.”

  “Did you use water?”

  “Just to wash my hands when I was done. It was nothing like what Elisha did.”

  “Did you call upon your god?”

  “I prayed to him, for the people. I prayed he would make them well.”

  “Did you use any spells or incantations?”

  “Only a lot of prayers.”

  Elsigar closed his eyes and retreated to his own thoughts. There is no guile in him. But he still admits that he teaches the people the laws of an unknown god. Opening his eyes, Elsigar saw that Jesus was eating a crisp apple.

  “Apple trees grow near my mother’s house,” said Jesus. “We used to gather many and put them away to last the winter. I love the way they grow all around Ynys Witrin. Here, I brought some more.” He reached into his bag. “Have one.”

  “Thank you.” The fruit was indeed delicious. Can he know that for the druids, apples symbolize knowledge and wisdom?

  “Sometimes I wonder,” said Jesus, “why this island is called Ynys Witrin?”

  Elsigar shrugged, dumbfounded. “‘Ynys’ means ‘island,’ of course. And ‘Witrin’? Well, what else would it be called?”

  “I would call it Ynys Avalon.”

  “Avalon, indeed!” Elsigar savored another bite of his apple. Ynys Avalon—the island of apples—how fitting! Apples, wisdom, and the Tor—how they all fit together.

  Elsigar took his turn through the afternoon leading the purification rituals, but most of the day he spent in silent contemplation. He looked over to Jesus from time to time, expecting him to be bored, but Jesus seemed to be enjoying his own quiet meditation. The more Elsigar contemplated how fascinated Jesus seemed by the apples, the more he realized he knew the answer to give to Esmeralda. With Jesus, it is all about knowledge. He yearns to learn. He uses what he learns. That is how he rid Pilton Hollow of the leprosy. People have always feared such places because they fear to be infected. The law of his god is only common sense. When you cast out the unclean you save the clean. There is no magic in it.

  The festival concluded with the setting of the sun behind the Tor. Elsigar invited Jesus to come and study with the novices at Bangor and Ynys Môn. He wasn’t surprised that Jesus accepted. What surprised him was that Jesus seemed to expect the invitation.

  Chapter 11

  A Chariot and Some Prodigals

  Joseph

  Joseph l
ooked out over the choppy water as the ship approached the entrance of the Fal. Deep in thought, he did not hear Kendrick approach from behind. He flinched as the captain laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “You have said hardly anything for the last five days, my friend,” the captain observed. “Not since we left Lake Village, not even when we were caught in those doldrums. Usually, you’re grabbing my ear constantly to get the ship moving. You are not yourself.”

  “I’m saddened, leaving Mary and the boys behind,” said Joseph. “I meant what I said. I am not going back. So I may never see them again.”

  “I know you well enough to take you at your word, Joseph. I just will never understand why. All of us are doing so well.”

  “I will send you back from Armorica with money and supplies for the boys. You can carry on with them if you wish.” I cannot tell him of the path that leads Jesus to his horrible death on the cross. “All I can say is that Jesus is on a dangerous path, and I cannot help him continue. I cannot stop him from remaining in Britain, but neither can I help him.”

  “It was impetuous for him to take off after the robbers, but he was defending Mary’s home. The people would never have allowed the druidess to execute him for that. She only banished him for a few weeks.”

  Joseph smiled; then he became serious again. “It is not the Celts that I fear.”

  “If you really need to be away from Jesus, why not continue working from Carn Roz and leave the boys in Ynys Witrin? Without you, the tin operation will fall apart. I cannot keep it going, but I could buy the refined tin from you every season and take it to Armorica to sell.”

  “I would need the maps Jesus made showing the ore deposits. He would be entitled to his portion of the profits I make here, so I would still be helping him stay in Britain.”

  “That would only be the case if he knew.”

  “Are you suggesting that I cheat Jesus out of his share? He’s my own great-nephew!”

  “Set his share of the profits aside, and give it to him when he returns to his homeland. If you did not stay, he would not get anything more from his discoveries, so it isn’t as if you are taking anything from him. He is better off getting his share when he leaves Britain than not at all.”

  “I need to think about this.” Perhaps Kendrick is right. Jesus always said he trusted me to hold his share of the profits, and he has never asked for an accounting. Perhaps I should make everything I can here in Carn Roz and put aside a good profit for the boys.

  The wind was light, and it took most of the afternoon for Kendrick to work the ship up to Carn Roz. The tide was in, so he was able to land alongside the stepping stone on the edge of the tidal pool. Many of the villagers paused from their work to wave, and the urchins came out in force to greet them.

  Joseph waved to Bannoch and looked over the village. They had three smelting furnaces now, and all were putting out smoke. With the fields fallow for the winter, the smelter provides employment for the men. Maybe if I stay here we can get another furnace going in the mouth of the Plym. It would give easy access to the ore fields along the Tamar. Yes, Kendrick is right; there is more money to be made here, and the boys will be better off for it.

  With a good supply of wine still left, Joseph was able to barter enough tin to fill the hold of Kendrick’s ship. Joseph decided to stay with Bannoch and his family in Carn Roz while Kendrick made the run to Armorica to sell the tin and withdraw some of the money Joseph had on deposit there. They agreed that Kendrick would then sail directly to Ynys Witrin to bring the Roman coin to the boys. It would give Joseph more than a week to think before Kendrick returned to Carn Roz.

  Jesus

  The trip down the Brue in the curragh was pleasant. Jesus was on the first leg of the trip from Lake Village, on his way across the mouth of the great Sabrina in Cymru. Spring was still more than a month away, but buds were starting to show in the trees, and birds were singing and nesting. It was certainly quite cool paddling down the river, but remarkably temperate for the winter.

  Jesus was traveling with a passing bard who knew the way to King Cymbeline’s capitol at Caer Wysg. Elsigar had arranged for this companion the day after Imbolc, just before the druid himself had set out on his return across Bodmin Moor to the lands of the Dumnonii. He said he had much druid business there and would travel by sea for the start of the Bangor school and meet up with Jesus in the spring. The bard would not be traveling further than Caer Wysg, but King Cymbeline was known for his hospitality and could be counted on to find another companion to take Jesus on the next leg of the journey.

  The bard sat in front of the curragh. He seemed to be going through the motion of dipping his paddle in the water, without putting much force into the strokes. As one would expect of a bard, he tended to be talkative. He tried to press Jesus for details about the nasty business with Esmeralda, but Jesus demurred, thinking that it could only make more trouble in Ynys Witrin if word of what he might say ever got back there. Nor could Jesus talk about the silver find. The battle at Rumps was old news. By the time they reached the open water of the Sabrina, each had become lost in his own thoughts.

  They paddled along the shore of the Sabrina, huddling in their cloaks as protection from wind and wave, until they reached the narrowing of the river estuary. Even using dry tinder and flints, the air was too damp for any fire to catch, so they spent a cold, restless night trying to conserve as much warmth as they could under their blankets.

  In the morning, Jesus was wet, cold, thoroughly cross and miserable, and he found himself doing most of the paddling. God the Father had been quite explicit that he was not to tarry in Ynys Witrin, but he couldn’t help wondering if it had been a mistake not to wait for spring. He was doing something that made no sense to him, simply because it was his Father’s will. This was the first time his Father had given him a specific command. He was not about to disobey, but it certainly felt unusual. He knew what it was to obey his earthly parents, as well as Uncle Joseph for the most part, but their wishes seemed to make more sense.

  Once they reached the shore of Cymru, they beached and hid the curragh. As they walked inland on a pathway across gently rolling hills, Jesus’s heart was lifted by the freedom to move his legs and the warmth of the sun finally peeking through the clouds. He was in a decidedly better mood once they reached the entrance of King Cymbeline’s hillfort at Caer Wysg. The gatekeeper first recognized the bard. When the bard turned and identified his companion as Jesus bar Joseph from Galilee, it was clear from the gatekeeper’s look of awe that Jesus’s reputation had preceded them.

  Looking around the inner precinct of the fort, Jesus’s first impression was that he was back in Lugdunum or even Jerusalem. The place was bustling with traders, merchants, soldiers, and functionaries all scurrying about their business. Jesus felt much more at a true center of a kingdom than ever he had among the Dumnonii.

  The old bard brought Jesus before King Cymbeline, who was holding court in the banquet hall. The king patiently heard out each person in the queue of petitioners, before moving to the next. He was stout and advancing in years, but very quick-witted. He wore a heavy gold torc around his neck and gold bracelets on each wrist. His leggings were fashioned of leather. Otherwise, his clothes were simple British garb.

  “Ah! The hero of Rumps is here.” The king rose to greet Jesus once the bard had introduced him.

  “Many fought as heroes to defend Rumps—many died. I cannot claim the credit,” Jesus answered.

  “I have heard other stories about you. They say you seek tin and silver. Is that what brings you to Cymru?”

  “No, I am on my way to Bangor and Ynys Môn to study with the druids. Do you know Elsigar?”

  “Yes, the archdruid of the Dumnonii.” The king shrugged in a mock gesture of frustration. “I cannot say that I deal with him much. The gods bless me with my own druids to advise and consent to every little thing I do to assure that it is suitably pious.”

  Jesus smiled, as others laughed with the king. “El
sigar arranged to bring me here in the hope that you might assist me on my journey. I do not know the way.”

  “I was told you came all the way across the lands of the Romans, and that you do not worship our gods. I never heard of an outlander from so far away studying the ways of the druids. It takes twenty years to become a druid, you know.”

  “I am not trying to become a druid. I have been attending the major festivals of the druids to watch and learn. My own God inspires me to learn that there may be truths to be found in all religions.”

  “If that is pious enough for a druid as renowned as Elsigar, that is good enough for me! How are you planning to go?”

  “I brought the bard across the Sabrina in a curragh. Elsigar said I should make my way up the Sabrina to its source and then cross the mountains.”

  “The Snowden Mountains are treacherous in winter. You will not want to make that journey now. Stay here for a few weeks and give the springtime sun a chance to melt the mountain snows.” The king turned to one of his attendants. “Summon Guiderius and Arvigarus for me.”

  “I am afraid I have no coin to pay for my food and lodging. My family was robbed—”

  “You are here as my guest,” Cymbeline interrupted. “I would not hear of taking anything in exchange for hospitality.”

  Two young men came into the banquet hall and paused in the doorway. They were obviously twins, with identical open smiles on their freckled faces. Their eyes were blue, their flaming red hair hung straight onto their shoulders, and their upper lips bore faint traces of downy hair, as if they were competing to be the first to grow a man’s mustache. Even their clothes were identical, except that one of them wore a slightly thicker gold torc around his neck.

  “These are my sons, Guiderius and Arvigarus,” said Cymbeline. “Guiderius came out of his mother’s womb just a few minutes before Arvigarus, so he will rule this kingdom one day.” When Cymbeline pointed to him, Jesus could see that Guiderius was the one with the thicker torc. “Arvigarus is studying the ways of the druids, and as luck would have it, he too is going to Ynys Môn. The two of you can go together. You will be a good influence on him.” The king laughed, then let out a belch. “Just be careful he doesn’t end up being a bad influence on you.”