AN ARCHAEOLOGIST'S dAY
BY ALISTAIR J.P. SIMS
The droplets cascade
Heaven weeps without falter
- I fall in trench one
* The Haiku: an Archaeologist's day is sole copyright of Alistair J. P Sims
The Bronze Magician
By Alistair J.P. Sims
She spins, ever spinning; the spindlewhorl twirls, like a dancer pirouetting. It is her beginning. The undulating spindlewhorl weaves the story. The first threads are woven into the tapestry of life. It is her beginning; it is time to listen and to be enshrouded into threads of lives past.
Shadows swirled overhead, as the light of the morning sun rose unsteadily to his feet, and eventually at full height, looked down upon the landscape and with his face turned downwards, beamed. A clammy breeze drifted along, but as it moved over the rolling hills and up towards the highest peak, the air cooled and almost gained a chilling bite. Just below the icy winds, and near a Hill-fort was one of the three enclosures, which dominated the hilltops of the peninsular. The breeze was cool but not of a bitterness that dominated the upper heights of the hills. The air drifted along a stone embankment, whispering against the stone guardian until it was able to drift through the entrance, a timber framed gateway, which was attired in many colours; shades of blue, green and red cloth wrapped around the posts. As the zephyr rushed through the entrance it swirled in every direction, filing through the roundhouses that criss-crossed the enclosure. Wrapping and warping around the structures, the air finally dwindled to stillness. Only the tiniest of breezes were left drifting aimlessly through the settlement.
The Metal Magician Gofannon mirrored the wind, up the hills and along side the stone embankment, where burnt stones of many hues, rested in relaxed retirement for a noble service – the protection of the settlement. They came from the flames to be shattered by cool water, heating the liquid in leather containers, and now used in the splendid art of construction. Gofannon saw, as he followed the wind, glowing from the embankment, pinks that ranged from crimson to the palest rose. He noticed the sparkling of quartz, which brought a magical overtone to the already glimmering guardian. Gofannon smiled, as he walked through the entrance, his eyes glancing at the darting fabric that wrapped the timbers, which flapped in the wind. It was good to home, he thought, to be back with his family.
As he moved through the settlement, like the zephyr, Gofannon strolled around the roundhouses. He watched a community that was vigorously at work, preparing the feast of the ceremony of marriage that had taken place earlier, which he now had the good fortune to give the blessing and the gift giving. He breathed in the acrid and cloying scents of wood smoke that mixed with the sweet and mouth-watering aroma of mutton turning upon a spit. He heard the sounds of the quern stones grinding and grating against wheat. Cauldrons over flickering flames, were heard to bubble away, like a base note in the melody of the settlement.
He saw the men seated beside the spits, turning the meat every so often, joking, conversing, playing Artek Rhiau, a game of strategy consisting of stone counters. He always enjoyed the game, Gofannon thought, and noticed that the men were attired in their finest clothes, in brown or green warn woollen close fitting trousers, and upon their torsos lay long tunics of a variety of colours, from blues, greens and reds. Cloaks of sheepskin adorned their shoulders. All had cloak clasps of varying quality; most wore ones of bronze, although there were a few exceptions. The married men had ingots of bronze strapped to their arms. At their belts were Iron single bladed knife hung sheathed in sheepskin. Those yet to be wedded wore ingots of Tin, and a knife of bronze.
Gofannon observed that away from the impracticalness of the men, as the females of the settlement consistently observed to him, women went about their business and continued to prepare their share of the feast, which would celebrate the new union of man and woman. As their hands busied with practiced movements, they were free to chatter amongst themselves. The women were clothed in long ankle length tunics, which hid close fitting trousers, and of the same colour to the men’s garments. They also wore cloaks of sheepskin fixed in place by bronze clasps, and those who were married wore ingots of bronze, while the women yet to be wedded had ones of Copper. With the laughter of the men and the chatter of the women, an atmosphere of gladness and good cheer engulfed the settlement. Gofannon soaked up the ambience, revelling in it.
Gofannon soon came to the bride’s Tadogi’s roundhouse, not far away from the initial celebrations. He looked at the roundhouse, as he prepared the ground for metalworking, which after the blessing he would perform. The structure had many phases of use, rebuilt successively in timber and now in stone. A thick stone-faced wall with an earthen core created the present construction, and outside the stone roundhouse were the deteriorated old timbers of an older phase. Before he would start his work, he would make himself known, and so he entered the roundhouse.
Inside the construction was a large stone lined pit covered with pelts of sheepskin. Away from this and close to the inner walls of the roundhouse were more stone creations. There were a number of slate grey pot boilers, which dominated the left of the building and beside this was a pelt of sheepskin with a number of small objects, a number of whittle-tang hafted knives of iron, as well as, a couple of polishing stones. Beside these were a collection of stone hammers, pounders and grinders. Blue veined, they sat upon the sheepskin with imperialist haughtiness at the speckled iron knives next to them. Away from the proud stones were two spindlewhorls, one half finished. The second was worn with use, and a half finished length of newly created woollen fabric was attached to the object. The fully formed but dilapidated spindlewhorl glowed with a fervent smugness at the unfinished object besides him, laughing at the items disability of service. All these games of pettiness subsided by the glare of a single hammerstone, which lay upon his own pelt of sheepskin, like a high king disciplining his subject, the golden and storm hued rock took the silent stares and murderous whispers of the fellow objects without a commotion or fear.
Gofannon couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, as he imagined the personalities of the objects, and he watched the bride Roisin, as she picked up the spindlewhorl with the half-finished fabric, and began to finish the cloth that her sister had started earlier. She was oblivious of him, and Gofannon gave a small smile. He flicked his eyes towards her Mamau, who sat in the roundhouse with the rest of the female Tras, and inclined his head in acknowledgment before he left the building.
Gofannon, as he moved outside the roundhouse quickly dug a small hole, with his iron knife, which was sheathed in goatskin on his left hip. Now sat in the palm of his right hand, he shaped the small creator with the knife into a neat circular pit, depositing a small earthen bank around the crevice. He then called for two young lads, who carried his bronze casting kit, along with his skin bellows. He soon went back to his work, preparing the pit for the melting and casting of bronze, and his eyes glazed over at instinctive movements, his mind was elsewhere, recalling his youth. Gofannon now had the pit aflame with charcoal, with a lad huffing and puffing he worked the bellows. Gofannon looked away from the turning pit, his eyes found Roisin, as she stepped out of roundhouse.
‘It is now time for your and Llew’s blessing, and for you to be officially the daughter of Lugus,’ Gofannon smiled, and moved to embrace Roisin. His smile grew brighter as he remembered Roisin as a young girl, always placing daisy chains upon his head.
Roisin couldn’t quite believe what was happening, everything had gone so quickly. She was just able to keep her composure, before Llew joined her outside the roundhouse. The newlyweds took each other’s hand and looked at each other. Llew smiled, if a little ungainly, while Roisin smiled shyly. Their hands squeezed each other’s, as they watched the people of the settlement to form around them. On Llew’s right was his Tadogi and Mamau, while Roisin had her parents on her left. The elders came to stand in front of them, and leading them was the Head Tras, Idnerth. Next to him was Metal Magician Gofannon, holding a number of metal objects in his hands. Llew saw Idnerth smile at him and Roisin, and then speak.
‘We are gathered her for the blessing of Llew son of Lugus, and Roisin Merch of Emyr,’ ‘now I leave it for Metal Magician Gofannon to complete the ceremony,’ said Idnerth, as he stepped aside to join the elders.
The Metal magician gazed at the crowd and the back to the couple.
‘From Tyn and Copr you sprang, innocent to each other,’ and as he said this Lugus moved to remove his son’s Tin ingots from his wrist, and Almedha also moved to remove her daughters Copper pin.
‘These two in union form Efydd, the signifier of union, marking you mutually in purpose,’ Gofannon continued, and he walked towards the couple, placing a bronze ingot that their parents had denoted, as a bride price, in each other’s outstretched hand.
‘These will be melted down after the blessing to create new pins to represent your life together,’ he atoned.
‘Together you keep each other, and protect each other, thus Haearn shows your promise to do so,’ Gofannon cried out.
The Metal Magician then gazed at Llew. ‘Will you son of Lugus protect your wife?’ ‘Yes,’ answered Llew, without thought. ‘Then Haearn protect you both,’ called Gofannon, as he handed to Llewan Iron knife, sheathed in sheepskin.
‘In any union, one must have knowledge of each other, to better understand each other, thus you must guide each other,’ said the Metal Magician.
‘Together you will be today, but how long will that last with the frailties of age? With Aur you may grow old together, and so your union will never fade,’ stated Gofannon, as he gave small ingots of gold to the couple.
Metal Magician Gofannon finished the ceremony, looking at the Tras of the settlement. He moved his hands to the heavens and shouted out for all to hear.
‘From Tyn and Copr, together in Efydd, protected with Haearn, understanding and life together, with Aur. Bless these two, Llew and Roisin, as they start their great journey together.’
The cheer that erupted from the crowed and reverberated over the settlement, drowning anything else that Metal Magician Gofannon may have said. Gofannon turned to look at Llew and was proud of his Nephew.
She spins, ever spinning; the spindlewhorl twirls, like a dancer pirouetting. The end had come. The undulating spindlewhorl has finished the story. The last threads are woven into the tapestry of life. It is her new beginning; it is time to contemplate and to be resurrected back into threads of lives present.
* The Bronze Magician is sole copyright of Alistair J. P Sims
The hero of MEILLIOYNDD
BY ALISTAIR J.P. SIMS
Ribbons of light singed the horizon, kissing the brows of the rolling hills of the peninsula. The sun was pleased with the clouds’ civility, as they drifted across the vista of a settlement, allowing him to give a warm embrace to the surrounding landscape. Air rushed over the rising mounds of earth and rock, and as it entered the encircled coastline, the wind swirled and billowed. The zephyr made the many hued fields of meadow writhe like an ocean lapping against a sea cave. Wave after wave of viridian, olive and emerald rippled through the vista. Animals waded through the green sea. They were caught in the continuous current, inexplicably pulling them to and fro. The bleats of the sheep punctured the morning rustle of grass, as they braced the onslaught. Moving in a kin centred convoy, stopping every so often to wail at the jade sea in which they swam.
Between the brows of the golden tinged hills and the silvery mist laden azure sea, a double ring of stone enclosed a settlement. The stone guardians were comprised of layers upon layer of rubble, and in the conflagration of light that blazed in the heavens, the stone embankment glowed crimson and jet, while specks of turquoise haphazardly mottled the silent guardian. A gorse bush hedge sat upon the outer rampart. Like a helmet it rested upon the embankment with a distinct task and aesthetic intent. Its thorn encrusted mane spoke terror to those who tried to climb its bristly face. Still, young boys tried, as they were dared to by their young associates who continued to urge them to do many acts of stupidity.
Behind the outer stone rampart a timber canopy mirrored the fortifications, a timber and sheep hide structure that gave protection from the elements to those who guarded the settlement from raids – either from roaming bands of outcasts, or of rival settlements. Most raids came to nothing much than a few bruises and cuts. The worst would be a crippling wound and rarely did a death occur. There had not been a cessation of kin from rival aggression for a generation. The last death had been the end of a debilitating blood debt between the two settlements that vied for control of the coastal region in the peninsula. The debt had now been paid in full. Not in cattle and livestock, but in the blood of the young men of the settlements, who should be plying the fields and tending their young wives, not dead and littering the rolling hills and valleys of the peninsula in mournful Cairns.
Now an uneasy relationship between Meillionydd and their neighbours persisted, and like the volatile relationship between the settlements in the peninsula, the weather also had its own fickle liaison; one that moved from adoration to a whip crack cacophony of water, as the whispery wool like clouds darkened and the heavens released a deluge upon the settlement.
A young boy of thirteen summers, who had been frolicking in the sun’s heat with his friends, ducked into the canopy of the rampart. He wore a long olive wool tunic over brown tight fitted trousers. Upon his right arm, he wore ingots of Tin threaded with leather – denoting his un-married status. He had a leather belt around his waist, in which a Bronze knife was fastened and sheathed in sheepskin. His raven hair was tied into a tail with a leather thong, except for a single length, which had a herringbone braid. The other youngsters around him were similarly attired. The boy had been pretending that he was the great hero of the Meillionydd, who had beaten the bronze-wielding enemies – in this case played by his friends – that surrounded the settlement, cleaving men in two with his sword of star iron. This was one his favourite stories to re-enact, especially when it was maintained by his grandfather, one of the elders of the settlement, that the legendary hero’s blood raged in his own veins.
The boys huddled under the canopy, trying to avoid the torrent of water that fell. The young boy fiddled with the herringbone braid, which his grandfather had shaped, telling him as he secured it that his kin, all the way back to the hero of Meillionydd, had worn the same pattern. It was part of his heritage. The boy leaned against the stone rampart and listened to the rat-tat-tat of the rain against the stretched hide. The sharp scents of sheep dung and the musty smell of water mixing with fertilised earth assailed his nasal passages; he could almost taste it at the back of his throat. The sound of bleats from the sheep that roamed outside the ramparts echoed in the overwhelming disharmony of water. The young boy could smell the unfortunate animals – the odour of saturated wool.
‘Rhisiart,’ said Angwyn, as he crouched near to the timber frame of the canopy, ‘do you always have to be the hero of Meillionydd? Can’t some one else have a go?’
Rhisiart was about to answer his friend when one of the older boys came running to them, his wet hair flapping against his face.
‘Everyone, Rhisiart, Angwyn!’ yelled the boy, ‘there’s a Metal Magician with the elders. He has news of monstrous men clad in segments of iron and wielding swords of steel, sacking settlements along the peninsula. Let’s go and try to catch a glimpse of him?’
A chorus of agreement came from the young and now excited boys huddled under the canopy. The rabble of boys started to run towards the centre of the settlement. Angwyn waited and turned to his friend.
‘You coming?’
Rhisiart shook his head. He would find out what was happening later from his grandfather, who was also a kin Elder and whom the Metal Magician might stay with during his visit.
‘You’ll miss all the fun,’ warned Angwyn and he disappeared off into the vertical mist of tear shaped droplets that streamed down from the charcoal sky.
Rhisiart turned to the stone guardian and started to imagine himself at the ramparts with his Kin’s Star Iron sword yelling his defiance at these iron encased monsters. He walked out into the rain, and spotted a long length of wood, a fallen branch. He picked it up and swung it experimentally, imagining that it was his Iron sword, and smiled, as he pretended that he cleaved his opponent in two. He forgot all about the torrent of water that rushed over his head and down his body, soaking his woollen clothes, making him smell like the sheep that roamed the landscape. He was completely immersed in his fantasy of heroic feats. It was all that mattered at that moment in time.
* Hero of Meillioyndd is sole copyright of Alistair J. P Sims
Fields of Clover
BY ALISTAIR J.P. SIMS
Hewn in Stone,
Cast in Bronze,
Forged in Iron,
Life,
Death,
and rebirth.
A pebble in the pond,
A ripple and Fields of Clover sway
to the sound of song,
to the resonance of blood
Myth, Legend,
Truth recorded in history
the dark outline of fire,
Burning,
Ceasing,
and rekindled in imagination.
The rubble of antiquity,
brought form by sweat
and the trowel.
We dig their stories
and breathe life into a singular moment.
* Fields of Clover is sole copyright of Alistair J. P Sims