prisoners, holding mysterious and terrible ceremonies in oak groves. These same Romans failed to mention that captured Britons, many of them Druids, or ahherents of the Druid religion, were shipped off to Rome to provide spectacle in the arenas by fighting gladiators or lions.
Tacitus writes: “The graves devoted to Monas barbarous superstitions he demolished. For it was their religion to drench their altars in the blood of prisoners and to consult their gods by means of human entrails.”
What few facts we can glean from these Roman distortions tell us that the Druids were indeed formidable foes. When the Romans reached the Isle of Mon (which the English call Anglesey), they were confronted by a horde of blue-painted Celts, both men and women, brandishing weapons and howling so fiercely that the mighty Roman army was unnerved and the soldiers could not be persuaded to cross the strait to do battle. Eventually, when reinforcements arrived and the Celts were hopelessly outnumbered, the Romans advanced and there was a fierce battle before the Celtic army was wiped out.
Wales became a Roman province. Christianity arrived in the fourth century. Druidism was suppressed but never completely wiped out. The Christian missionaries cleverly incorporated the most important Druid feasts into the church year, so that the winter solstice, with its garlands of holly and ivy, its burning of a great log, and its feast to brighten the shortest day, has become Christmas.
Beltane, with its lighting of the new fire, its sprigs of flowers, and celebration of spring awakening, has been incorporated into Easter. And Samhuinn, that most mystical of days, on October 31st, when the door between this world and the otherworld is open so that spirits may pass freely between, has now become the children’s festival of Halloween.
Evan opened his eyes and blinked in a blinding white light. For a second or two his heart raced, and he sat up, wondering what was happening to him. Then he realized it was only the sun, streaming in through his as-yet-uncurtained bedroom window. It was the first sunny day since he had moved and he hadn’t realized that the window
faced due east, allowing the morning sun to come streaming in. That strength of sunlight must also mean that it was quite late. He groped for his watch on the packing case that was presently standing in for a bedside table. Eight-fifteen. He rarely slept as late as that. Mrs. Williams had made sure that he never overslept and the tempting smell of bacon cooking had been enough to wake him. Then he remembered that it was Saturday. On weekends Mrs. Williams would serve him a full Welsh breakfast—bacon, sausage, fried bread—the works! Evan swung his feet onto the cold linoleum and sighed.
At least it was a sunny Saturday for a change. Maybe Bronwen would like to go for a hike, or they could drive down to the Llyn Peninsula and do some bird-watching. Spring was the best season for the seabirds. Then he remembered something else. This was his weekend to work. He took a lukewarm bath, not having learned yet how to coax the water heater into producing hot water for more than a couple of minutes, shaved, and made himself toast and tea. At least the stove had a grill element that worked. As he carried the toast through to the vinyl table, he heard a sound—the pop-popping noise of a revving motorbike. Evan jumped up and rushed outside. Surely he’d remembered to lock the lean-to where he was keeping the motorbike? And surely nobody could start it without the key? He imagined what D.C.I. Meredith would say if he had to call in and report the bike stolen after one day. He rushed outside in time to see a lanky figure wobbling down the hill on the bike, a large bag on his back. As Evan watched in horror, the bike picked up speed and the man gave a yell and jumped off, just before the bike ran into the gatepost of the Red Dragon and fell over, its engine still roaring.
Evan rushed to pick the man
Tacitus writes: “The graves devoted to Monas barbarous superstitions he demolished. For it was their religion to drench their altars in the blood of prisoners and to consult their gods by means of human entrails.”
What few facts we can glean from these Roman distortions tell us that the Druids were indeed formidable foes. When the Romans reached the Isle of Mon (which the English call Anglesey), they were confronted by a horde of blue-painted Celts, both men and women, brandishing weapons and howling so fiercely that the mighty Roman army was unnerved and the soldiers could not be persuaded to cross the strait to do battle. Eventually, when reinforcements arrived and the Celts were hopelessly outnumbered, the Romans advanced and there was a fierce battle before the Celtic army was wiped out.
Wales became a Roman province. Christianity arrived in the fourth century. Druidism was suppressed but never completely wiped out. The Christian missionaries cleverly incorporated the most important Druid feasts into the church year, so that the winter solstice, with its garlands of holly and ivy, its burning of a great log, and its feast to brighten the shortest day, has become Christmas.
Beltane, with its lighting of the new fire, its sprigs of flowers, and celebration of spring awakening, has been incorporated into Easter. And Samhuinn, that most mystical of days, on October 31st, when the door between this world and the otherworld is open so that spirits may pass freely between, has now become the children’s festival of Halloween.
Evan opened his eyes and blinked in a blinding white light. For a second or two his heart raced, and he sat up, wondering what was happening to him. Then he realized it was only the sun, streaming in through his as-yet-uncurtained bedroom window. It was the first sunny day since he had moved and he hadn’t realized that the window
faced due east, allowing the morning sun to come streaming in. That strength of sunlight must also mean that it was quite late. He groped for his watch on the packing case that was presently standing in for a bedside table. Eight-fifteen. He rarely slept as late as that. Mrs. Williams had made sure that he never overslept and the tempting smell of bacon cooking had been enough to wake him. Then he remembered that it was Saturday. On weekends Mrs. Williams would serve him a full Welsh breakfast—bacon, sausage, fried bread—the works! Evan swung his feet onto the cold linoleum and sighed.
At least it was a sunny Saturday for a change. Maybe Bronwen would like to go for a hike, or they could drive down to the Llyn Peninsula and do some bird-watching. Spring was the best season for the seabirds. Then he remembered something else. This was his weekend to work. He took a lukewarm bath, not having learned yet how to coax the water heater into producing hot water for more than a couple of minutes, shaved, and made himself toast and tea. At least the stove had a grill element that worked. As he carried the toast through to the vinyl table, he heard a sound—the pop-popping noise of a revving motorbike. Evan jumped up and rushed outside. Surely he’d remembered to lock the lean-to where he was keeping the motorbike? And surely nobody could start it without the key? He imagined what D.C.I. Meredith would say if he had to call in and report the bike stolen after one day. He rushed outside in time to see a lanky figure wobbling down the hill on the bike, a large bag on his back. As Evan watched in horror, the bike picked up speed and the man gave a yell and jumped off, just before the bike ran into the gatepost of the Red Dragon and fell over, its engine still roaring.
Evan rushed to pick the man
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