The Horse Goddess (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn) by Morgan Llywelyn Read Free Book Online

son.”
    Epona gazed at her mother earnestly, a frown creasing her sunny freckles. “How can I be certain of having a good husband?”
    “Foolish girl! You are of the family of Toutorix; you will have your pick of the most outstanding men from every tribe of the people within thirty nights of the Blue Mountains.”
    Epona looked away, across the commonground. “And suppose I don’t want a man from some other tribe? Suppose I choose to stay here, married to one of the Kelti?”
    Rigantona’s jaw sagged with shock. “You can’t! Our men always bring their wives from beyond the mountains, and our
women always go to other tribes to form alliances for us. That is part of the pattern, Epona. About that, you have no choice.”
    Yes, I have , Epona said within herself, setting her jaw. She watched with unseeing eyes as some women removed grain from a storage pit, while others stacked firewood on the north side of their lodges. A work crew moved around the outside of the baking house, patching holes in the earthen wall. Suleva was combing her goats in one of the livestock pens; Kwelon and two of the smith’s apprentices struggled to fit a red-hot iron tire to the rim of a cartwheel made of mountain ash. Above the bustle of everyday activity could be heard the voice of the drui bard, or history singer, Poel, accompanying himself on his lyre as he taught a collection of children the tales of their ancestors.
    Epona’s eyes followed her people about their tasks but did not actually see them; her thoughts were only on herself.
    “Why can’t I do things differently if I want to?” she wanted to know. “Women of the Kelti are free, are they not? As free as their men? How can we be free if we are enslaved by some pattern?”
    Rigantona was accustomed to her daughter’s outbursts of rebellion, recognizing in them something of herself. But of course they were not to be tolerated. “The pattern protects, as you know, Epona,” she reminded the girl. “It does not enslave. The pattern governs all that we do, and the druii interpret it for us, since they are more sensitive to its limits than the rest of us. It can sometimes be tugged into a new shape, but that is strictly druii business and not for us to attempt. The important thing is to keep the pattern intact; it must never be broken. Never! The druii tell us that would make us vulnerable to forces beyond even their control.
    “But what makes you even suggest such a thing, girl? Is there some Kelti man who has drawn your eye?”
    “Goibban,” Epona whispered, keeping her eyes lowered.
    “The smith, is it? Hai! Your choice does you credit. But of course it’s impossible, a childish notion. Just remember your high standards when the time comes to choose from
among those who offer us gifts for you. A woman of the people must never give herself to any man but the best.
    “That’s another thing we must discuss. I almost forgot it, and it’s very important. By our custom, a girl must wait until her marriage bed before her first lifemaking, but later, if she does have reason to share bedsports with another man, she must be certain he is at least of her husband’s rank. Listen to me, Epona!
    “Give yourself only to the bravest and most gifted. The children you bear must bring honor to your husband’s family. The history singer must never say of you that you engaged in bedsports with a man of lower status than your husband, for that would be an unforgivable insult to the man you have married.” Her mouth twisted. “Of course, that might limit you to your husband’s brothers, if they have no women of their own and ask for you. But perhaps you will be lucky.”
    Epona heard herself asking the question that had haunted her since she was a small child. “Did you think it was lucky to go with Kernunnos?”
    Rigantona drew back and stared at her. “How could you remember that? You were so little!” The woman was surprised to find the memory still caused a crawling in her