Aunt Bronwyn pointed out the smaller pavilion, which was the Queen’s Bath. Originally there had been only the King’s Bath, but the queen became frightened by strange lights in the King’s Bath and refused ever to go back. So the Queen’s Bath was built. Hattie’s heart was pounding; what sort of strange light? she asked.
“Swamp gas caused the light,” Edward joked. Hattie was disappointed he felt he had to make a joke out of her question. Aunt Bronwyn was about to reply when they arrived at the hotel entrance, where Aunt Bronwyn was greeted by the doorman.
Rainbow tightened his grip on Indigo’s shoulder apprehensively as they entered the lobby of the Pump House Hotel. Hotel guests seated in the lobby stared with open mouths as Aunt Bronwyn marched past, eyes straight ahead, to the back hall and the stairway to the basement. The modern baths were separated from the old baths by a new wall. Kerosene lamps hung from excavation scaffolding to light the stairs; as she descended, Indigo felt the warmth and dampness of the springs below, and despite the odor of the lamp oil, an even stronger odor, of wet clay, old urine, and mildew, wafted around them as they descended.
They approached the edge of the big excavation, where workmen filled wheelbarrows with dirt and stone debris by the light of kerosene torches that projected strange giant shadows of the workmen on the walls. Below them, on the deepest level of the excavation, Edward saw the edge of the old Roman pool that once encompassed an area far greater even than the site of the hotel.
Major Davis left the workmen as soon as he saw them, and he and Aunt Bronwyn exchanged warm greetings. After the introductions were made, the major lit a small lantern and guided them between heaps of old stones and piles of damp earth to point out the periods of occupation: the Tudor and Elizabethan levels were hardly distinguishable from each other and appeared as dark gray streaks; the medieval level was deeper but a lighter gray; the Norman level was the color of ashes. The exposed layers of earth reminded Hattie of the alternating layers of jam and cream in a fancy cake. They descended the wide stone steps the workmen had unearthed only days before; a damp odor of clay and decaying organic material clung to the steps. Indigo was reminded of the odor of the smelly black mud she and Sister Salt tried to avoid at the edge of the river. As Hattie took a step down, the major announced she was now standing on the earliest Roman occupation level, from the time the sacred hot springs were first contained in a pool of cement and limestone; the construction of a Roman temple dedicated to Sulis Minerva followed. Its name was somewhat of a mystery, Major Davis explained, because Sulis was a Celtic deity of the sun and Minerva was the Roman goddess of the moon. He led them past piles of stone and plaster debris.
Edward noticed a number of torches lighting an area that appeared to hold something of great importance. Major Davis led them to it and stepped aside with a flourish to reveal the carved limestone altar of Sulis Minerva. All eyes were on the corner pillars of the altar—each was carved with voluptuous nude figures, two women and two men; fortunately the most prominent features of the statues were weathered enough, so Hattie allowed Indigo to step up to get a better look.
Hattie realized the altar platform stone, though larger and wider, was almost identical in shape to the flat rock in her dream and in her aunt’s garden. An odd sensation pulsed through her body when she touched the corner of the altar stone, and left her feeling a bit light-headed, but not unwell.
The parrot became extremely agitated, flapping its wings and screeching on Indigo’s shoulder; for a moment the workmen all stopped to stare, but with a stern glance from the major the work resumed. As soon as she moved away from the altar the parrot quieted; Indigo was not surprised to see Edward’s frown but she was saddened at the odd expression on Hattie’s face, as if she wanted Indigo and the parrot to leave at once.
Aunt Bronwyn took Indigo’s hand firmly in hers. The parrot was only trying to warn them the air in the basement was not fresh! The Romans made a mistake when they built structures over the hot springs. Aunt Bronwyn was more interested in the sacred springs before the invasion of the Romans, when the Celts tossed coins and tablets of lead to curse enemies to the spirits of the springs. At the mention of coins, Edward interrupted his examination of the altar platform and turned to the major and Aunt Bronwyn. Was it possible to see the artifacts that were for sale? Of course. Would they like to see the excavation where the Celtic objects were found? It was right on their way to the storage area for artifacts.
They followed the major down the wooden ramp for wheelbarrows, down into the deepest level of the excavations, where workmen removed the layers of sand and peat from the bottom of the pool. Here warm springwater bubbled up through the sand even as the workmen toiled in rubber boots.
Indigo was fascinated with the bubbling sand and water over the mouth of the spring. The spring at the old gardens dripped cool water down a cleft in the sandstone cliff; here the water bubbled straight up through the sand in a circle that Indigo watched closely for a long time until the circle of bubbling sand reminded her of the dancers bobbing and swaying as they swooned at the sight of the Messiah and his family. Then she felt Aunt Bronwyn gently touch her shoulder to ask if she was all right.
“I was remembering the dancers,” Indigo said. “When I think of them and that night, I am happy.”
It was a relief to emerge into the fresh air in the back hall of the old hotel. They followed the major to a large storage pantry used to clean and catalogue the artifacts and to label fragments of temple pediments and other carved stone. His assistants excused themselves while the major took the ring of keys to the large oak chests already packed for shipment to Oxford.
The major unwrapped a bundle of canvas and twine to reveal a dozen little wooden artifact boxes with identification labels neatly lettered in india ink. He slid back the tops of the boxes one by one to display the carved gemstones nested in cotton and set them out on the worktable; then he invited them to step closer and have a look. In the later Roman levels, little amulets of ivory and bronze in the shapes of breasts were found; fertility offerings, the major supposed. Hattie felt her face flush at the word “fertility” but hoped no one noticed.
Some were superstitious, but not the major; some thought to remove the ancient offerings to the springs invited disaster. Hattie had no desire to touch anything from centuries in black peat mud that reeked of old human waste, but Edward eagerly reached into the boxes. Indigo pressed close to Hattie to get a better look, though she was careful not to touch the carved stones. The little wooden boxes with sliding lids, lined with cotton, interested her more than the stones they contained. What good boxes for storing seeds!
Edward held up a cloudy chalcedony carved with three cattle under an oak tree; the figures of the cattle looked just like Aunt Bronwyn’s white cattle. How cruel it was to put the stones into little coffins after their centuries out in the world, even if in the bottom of a pool! The major gave a jolly chuckle at her remark and Edward joined in, but quickly cited the necessity to protect ancient artifacts for the sake of science. Aunt Bronwyn did not agree; she shook her head and turned to go just as the major dragged out a trunk with a loud noise that excited the parrot to shrieks. Indigo was relieved the major laughed before anyone could speak; he had been a parrot keeper once himself. Parrots must shriek from time to time for good health.
The major lifted a large canvas-wrapped bundle from the chest and proceeded to unwrap a thin, curved object of blackish gray metal, found by workmen in a drainage culvert. He held it up for them to get a good look; the eyes and mouth were narrow rectangular slits in the tin; the mask was of Celtic origin but was made after the Roman conquest, though its purpose was unknown. Did the mask represent the Diety of the spring? Was it worn by a priest, or a patient who came to drink the healing water?
Edward joked the mask belonged to the druids and reached out to touch it; the major handed it to him for closer inspection. Edward examined it, then lifted the tin mask up to his face for a moment and peered out the eyeholes at the o
thers. He supposed it was self-consciousness that caused the odd sensation when he looked through the eyes of the mask; more distance seemed to lie between himself and Hattie and other people, though they did not move. He pulled the mask away and looked at them, then lifted it again and looked before he gave the mask back to the major.
The major talked as he rewrapped the tin mask. The mask showed no relation at all to the fine bronze head of Minerva unearthed in the excavations of 1792. He hoped to locate the rest of Minerva’s bronze, though now it appeared unlikely; the funds allocated for the excavations were nearly spent. The cost of running the pumps day and night to keep the excavations clear of the springwater was prohibitive.
Edward examined the carved gemstones again. The bright orange carnelian depicting the goddess Minerva seated with a serpent was even more impressive, and Edward thought he could make a decent profit if he sold it in the United States. He particularly liked the vibrant bloodstone carved with the left profile of Jupiter seated with his mantle draped over his loins, his scepter in his left hand and an eagle on his outstretched right hand. The device of Jupiter holding an eagle was not common on gems, and Edward wanted very much to buy the gemstone.
The major was reluctant to see the pieces leave England, but the circumstances left him little choice; to continue the work additional funds must be obtained. Edward nodded; he understood. He examined a figure of Fortuna, carved into brown agate banded in white; the figure of the goddess held a poppy head in one hand and what appeared to be an ear of corn in the other hand, though it must have been another plant, since corn was a New World plant.
♦ ♦ ♦
Aunt Bronwyn took Indigo to find some refreshment in the hotel dining room while Edward negotiated a price for the carvings and one or two lead curse tablets.
After they returned to the house Edward brought out the lead curse tablets the major sold him. Edward was not sure how marketable the tablets would be—they were dark and discolored, their edges badly broken. Ugly and poisonous, lead was the perfect vehicle for the curses crudely scratched on their surfaces before they were tossed in the sacred spring. The old Celts and the Romans believed sacred wells and sacred springs had the power to expose and punish thieves and cheaters. All that was necessary was to write out the person’s name.
Edward was in good humor as he read the inscribed curse: “To the goddess Sulis. Whether slave or free, whoever he shall be, you are not to permit him eyes or health. He shall be blind and childless so long as he shall live unless he returns”—the next word is illegible—“to the temple.” Edward speculated on the illegible word while the coachman and his wife brought out the baskets of food for the picnic. Edward was pleased with his purchases from the major; the stop in Bath was more rewarding than he anticipated. He considered pleading a headache to excuse himself from the picnic so he could spend time with his new acquisitions, but the old woman promised circles of ancient stones on hilltops he must see.
Someone must have beaten the old bluestone with a hazel stick while they were at the excavation because by the time they washed up and had a light lunch (Aunt Bronwyn believed no one should go on a picnic hungry), the clear sky and sun gave way to dark blue storm clouds and wind-driven rain. The sky darkened, so hall lamps were lit by two o’clock. As the afternoon wore on, the wind blew harder and the creak and groan of the roof timbers could be heard, along with other noises in the wind—clatters and bangs of loose shutters. The old cloister was in need of repairs.
Edward excused himself and went upstairs; despite the fury of the storm, he was relieved to have the afternoon free to examine the Roman artifacts he purchased and to prepare his watercolor box for Corsica. He sharpened the knife he planned to use to make the twig cuttings and packed it in the watercolor box in a compartment under the brushes. He mixed watercolor washes and practiced pen-and-ink drawings of landscape scenes he copied from a guidebook. The Corsican farmers undoubtedly were accustomed to finding foreign tourists with easels and paint in their fields and orchards; after his undergraduate studies he’d spent the summer doing just that.
The rain drummed against the roof and walls, but the roof and the walls of the old cloister were weather-tight. Oh the wild storms this old building had weathered, he thought; now the rain washed against the walls in waves. Edward held the knife blade up to the light and examined its edge closely; would it cut the citrus twigs fast and clean without crushing the twigs’ fragile ends?
Now the wind made a howling sound like the sea monsters in stories Aunt Bronwyn heard as a child. The monsters were not flesh and blood but the great violent storms that lashed these islands. Little wonder there were so many stories of the fairies who were spirits of the dead, often drowned fishermen or others lost at sea.
The stone circle and the standing rock would have to wait; later they’d eat their picnic lunch at the round table. Now the rain poured in a deluge that seemed to rattle every inch of the old slate roof. Aunt Bronwyn listened for a moment, then commented that when the river overflowed its banks the cattle must be brought up from the orchard to higher ground. More than once she found herself in gum boots and slicker in the middle of the night with the rain pouring down, herding the white cattle to safety. She was not concerned now because the ground could take a good rain without a flood.
Hattie brought out her thesis notes at her aunt’s request, but she was content to sit all evening and listen to stories and forget the manuscript. The thesis seemed to belong to another lifetime now; she felt oddly detached from her notes.
The rain drummed on the roof harder and the parrot nervously looked up at Indigo. She sat on the little stuffed velvet footstool at Aunt Bronwyn’s feet to hear about the magic of King Arthur’s knight Cei, who could last nine days and nine nights underwater without air. This was a storm for Cei!
Indigo brought out Aunt Bronwyn’s basket of empty thread spools to keep the parrot’s beak off the oak molding and the legs of the chairs and sofas. Indigo rolled the empty spools and the parrot examined them with his beak before he broke them to bits. The noise of the storm made conversation difficult, so they sat and listened as the wind accelerated to a high-pitched whine and the rain slapped the window glass until Hattie thought it would break.
Aunt Bronwyn stirred the sugar in her tea and prepared to tell Indigo more about the knights of the Round Table; but she interrupted her introductory remarks about King Arthur with little exclamations at the noises the storm stirred up in the old cloister. After a big bumping noise in the rafters Aunt Bronwyn glanced toward the ceiling and said: “Uchdryd Cross-Beard threw his red beard across fifty rafters in Arthur’s hall!” And she continued to name the knights: Clust could hear an ant set out in the morning fifty miles away when he was buried under seven fathoms of earth. Medr from Celli Wig could shoot at a wren in Ireland right between his legs. Gwiwan Cat’s Eye could cut off a gnat’s eyelash without hurting the gnat’s eye. If Gwaddan Osol stood on the biggest mountaintop it would become a level plain. When Gwaddan of the Bonfire walked, sparks flashed from the soles of his feet whenever they touched anything hard, and whatever he touched became molten iron.
Aunt Bronwyn paused to listen to a new sound—an incessant loud knocking that seemed to come from the back of the house.
“Is someone there?” Hattie’s heart pounded as she got up from her chair. The sound seemed identical to the strange knocking Hattie heard the night she sleepwalked. Why did the sound set off such a panic in her?
“I think it is only the wind,” her aunt said, “though perhaps the wind means to take part of the old cloister with him.”
Aunt Bronwyn pointed at the thesis notes on the end table and Hattie picked them up. She explained how intrigued she had been in catechism class by the Gnostic heretics; then later, as she read Dr. Rhinehart’s translations, she wanted to write a thesis based on the lost gospels. Hattie flipped through the pages of notes but felt oddly detached from them now. She smiled at her paragraphs that argued Mary Magdalene was an apostle
and Jesus treated her as an equal with the others, who resented her. No wonder the gospel of Mary Magdalene had been buried in a cave in the desert for centuries. Mary Magdalene wrote she saw Jesus’ resurrected spirit, while Peter claimed they saw Jesus’ resurrected body. Why insist on a literal view of the resurrection and reject all others? Here was her answer, which stirred such rancor on the thesis committee: Peter and the others sought to legitimize their authority to exercise exclusive leadership as successors of Jesus.
Aunt Bronwyn laughed and clapped her hands as Hattie finished reading aloud. Good for Hattie! Aunt Bronwyn patted Hattie’s arm and told her how proud she was of Hattie’s defiance of the thesis committee. That was the old family spirit!
For centuries the clergy made war on the ways of the old ones! King Cormac the Magnificent cruelly suppressed the druid religion; in revenge, the druid Maelgin paid a sorcerer who caused a salmon bone to catch crossways in the king’s throat at the dinner table.
Indigo let the parrot play by himself with the spools while they listened to Aunt Bronwyn. The Council of Tours decreed excommunication for those who persisted in worshiping trees; the Council of Nantes instructed bishops and their servants to dig up and hide the stones in remote woody places upon which vows were still made. Yet the wisest Christians were respectful of the pagan spirits. St. Columba asked God to spare the sacred oak grove at Derry because while he feared death and hell, he feared the sound of an axe in the grove of Derry even more. Hattie asked if the sacred grove was still there. Her aunt shook her head.
Yet despite the persecution, the old customs persisted—dairy keepers spilled a bit of milk for the fairies, morning and night; on the first night of August, a few people (Aunt Bronwyn was one of them) still gathered around fires on nearby hilltops until dawn, though the church tried to outlaw such practices centuries before. People still bowed to the standing stones at crossroads and threw coins into springs and lakes. At one time the church ordered the slaughter of all herds of white cattle, which were suspected of pagan devotions; fortunately not everyone complied with the order. Aunt Bronwyn’s tone of voice grew more intense.