The Riding of the Mairuak
Patrick Crawford
Map of Northern Navarre, showing the Baztan Valley and the coast
Map of Florian's journey
Book 1 The Cave of Malamort
Prologue August 1626
Chapter 1 Florian out Foraging. May 1627
Chapter 2 The Arrival of the Mairuak May 1627
Chapter 3 The Return of Basajaun March 1627
Chapter 4 Adopted Urchins
Chapter 5 The Abode of the May Queen, May 1627
Chapter 6 To the High Pasture
Chapter 7 The Snake River Crossing
Chapter 8 A Halt in the Night
Chapter 9 In the Leas of Leorlas
Chapter 10 The Hunt is on
Chapter 11 The Festival of Flowers
Chapter 12 The Fright and the Flight
Chapter 13 In Search of the Sorginak (April 1627)
Chapter 14 The Wrath of the Urchins
Chapter 15 The Potion of Possession
Chapter 16 The Riding of the Mairuak (April 1627)
Chapter 17 A Meeting in the Forest (April 1627)
Chapter 18 A Secret Plot
Chapter 19 Through a Magic Portal
Chapter 20 Beyond Distraction
Chapter 21 The Swooping of the Vultures
Chapter 22 To the High Pasture Once More
Chapter 23 The Quest
Chapter 24 Touche!
Chapter 25 The Flight of Itxaro and Harbonde
Chapter 26 Around the Sun to get to the Moon.
Chapter 27 The Mysterious Monk of Martel
Chapter 28 Stealing the Night
Chapter 29 Survival is Battle Enough!
Chapter 30 Foiled!
Notes
BOOK 1 The Cave of Malamort
Prologue August 1626
Up, up rose the ship. A giant wave. And the fall swallowed your whole life.
Basajaun stared into the devouring maw of the hurricane. Strapped Odysseus-like to his galleon’s main-mast, he yelled uncontrollably. The mast splintered. He was thrown sideways towards the gunwale. The deck bowed towards the obscene gradient of the white-blue waves, which lashed and drowned the midships. “Untie me! Someone, please!” he howled as the water sluiced away like a grater over his skin. There was no one. All hands were below deck. He stared at his executioner. His senses were numb and frozen. When another huge wave crashed, he was torn and freed from the mast and then blasted as though from a cannon into the briny graveyard. Next the whole ship reared and fell beside him.
Barely conscious, on impulse, he made to pull away. But, unable to resist the maelstrom, he was sucked in to the swirling ocean and sank with his ship and crew as bubbles battered him in the screaming Caribbean waters.
''Oh, is this … my watery grave … my eternity?” Through the dark shapes around him he thought he could see creatures with the eyes of Argus and with hair of kelp and imagined he could hear the strain of a soothing, lilting voice.
“Mother, is that you?” The end of life brings childhood rushing back. “Is that a light? Oh … your story… in wavy forests of the deep lived the Argi who squabbled for the souls of drowning sailors. Is that it? Do you want my soul? Have it! I want my life!”
In seconds the drowning man, who was scarcely more than a boy, surfaced, floundering in the foamy breakers. Looking to the blue heavens. Breathing. Alive. Gratitude burst from his lungs. He smelt the brininess and tar around him and lunged himself upwards. He saw, above the breakers, waving palms and white sand. Among the flotsam, he grabbed a floating oar and kicked away from the frenzied reef.
''What fairy madness was that?'' he managed to call out after some time. ''I live. I live! But what of my soul?''
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Chapter One
Florian out Foraging. May 1627
Over a hundred leagues to the north of the Pyrenees, in a dark fissure of a forest to the east of the limestone plateau of Quercy, in France, a gloomy gully narrows to a precipitous slope. It is crammed with huge boulders and fallen logs and sometimes submerged in a rushing torrent, especially in winter. At some distance further down the mountain the water cascades over a cliff known as the falls of Malamort. It is practically inaccessible. The locals generally keep away from this area as they associate it with the devil or the ghosts of wild forest dwellers.
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A few leagues from these mountain falls lies the small village of Monteil. It nests in the valley of a sprightly stream called Fontfroide. On an early Spring morning, shrouded in mist, a shepherd's boy, Florian, was out foraging. He skirted around the beech trees and oaks of the forested slopes above the village. Up since first cock crow he had collected several handfuls of young beech leaves. He enfolded these in his smock with some young branches of wood that he was sure the wild boar had broken off in the night. Alert though he was, he nevertheless missed the small mysterious owl emerging from the woodpecker hole above him. He kept snagging his smock and dropping his load.
“Oh, careless! I must get this right. I’ve got t’ get back home.”
He was especially excited about the day as the goat herd would be moving up to the high pasture later in the morning. Shafts of sunlight suddenly illuminated the bright young leaves above. They lit starry storms of insects. The light also highlighted a small colony of ants which he danced around.
“Grandmama would smile if she saw me doing that.”
He liked to recall her shared stories about all sorts of creatures.
“She always favoured cicadas. But I like ants just as much.”
His grandmother had died several years ago and he missed her earthy presence and her stories of witches, wild geese and enchanted horses. But he was now determined to use his own powers of understanding when it came to the creatures of the forest and displays of nature. He toyed with their significance, becoming restless if he could not attach a meaning to them. He was sure, even at the age of eleven, that there was another world which inhabited these rustic rolling mountains. He had often heard his father talk of faeries and water sprites. Could the swarming midges all around him be a faery crew or attendants from some other spirit world? A magpie suddenly clattered through the branches nearby in front of him. He had to be careful. If another appeared he could be in trouble.
He ran into full sunlight and on to the stony path which led past the water mill. He then rushed past the young fern fronds, which, like tiny shepherd's crooks, were stretching forth all around him. Sometimes he loved to be near the stream so that he could watch the silky light that the water made as it rippled on the grassy stones. Today he ignored it completely. But as soon as he reached the water wheel he slowed down and breathed more calmly. The wheel itself was idle. It must still be very early, he thought. The miller has not yet started work. He walked over to the mill dam and peered at his reflection. He had not really noticed it properly before. He liked it and was pleasantly surprised. If he admired the attractive features that he saw, perhaps others would?
His own home, Mas Amiel, was one of the buildings near to the mill. His father, Arnaud, was sitting outside on a plank which rested on two thick logs. He was shaping laths of beech wood with a long carving knife. Shielding his eyes from the glare of the low-lying sun, he turned to face Florian as he approached - now at a quickened pace.
Chapter Two
The Arrival of The Mairuak[i]
Later, towards the end of the same day, a small group of travellers climbed persistently along a twisting trail towards the waterfall of Malamort. The group consisted of four well-dressed young men on horseback, three at the rear bunched closely together and the leading rider, a slim youth, some way ahead of his companions.
One of the three lagging behind, whose name was Ibarra, sat up tall in his saddle, threw his fuchsia-lined cloak over his shoulder and placed his rooster-plumed hat on his horse’s head. He was startled by a black and orange streak in the canopy above. The shape hopped to a lower branch and revealed itself as a coy blackbird. It warbled shrilly, competing with the avian vespers soaring through the mist on either side of the path. Ibarra turned to his companions.
“Cousins, I feel that the rocks are falling from my heart with every hill that we scale and conquer. Since we left Navarre, the pilgrim’s way was a good guide for our journey, but I prefer the cool shade of the woods up here in the hills.”
“Ah, but I will miss our encounters with our wise, helpful pilgrims,” replied Zorion. He smiled broadly and looked for approval to his twin, Azti, who beamed back at him. They both had similar nut-brown eyes (calm yet capricious).
“Do not worry, Zoro,” Azti grinned, “I believe we are not far from the end of our journey – provided Itxaro does not lead us astray…”
“Fear not, Azti, my brother has always had an instinct for the right direction. His head might be part loadstone. Always the adventurer. He must get it from father. Would you believe that father wanted to come with us? Until I dissuaded him. But he is pleased beyond words that you two decided to come. ‘They work like oxen,’ he said. ‘And they will design a more beautiful bridge than the Elizondo! He was also pleased with the garden you designed for our house. What was your inspiration for that?”
“A mixture – of geometry and astronomy…don’t forget that Zoro studied those subjects when he left Jesuit school to study in Madrid.”
“That’s right,” added Zorion. “and so we put a bed of sunflowers at the centre with different beds representing the planets all around. And then there were stars all around. So the sun is at the centre, not the earth. That is what I believe.”
“Better not let the Inquisition hear you saying that,” warned Azti, twisting round to see if they were behind, before looking at his brother and grinning.”
Ibarra smiled whimsically. He thought quietly for a while before adding, “Did you also study mathematics and science, Azti?”
“No, father wasn’t really keen. He didn’t even want Zoro to go to Madrid. But what he suggested for me was even more hazardous. He asked me to go to Zugarramurdi and to find out as much about sorcery from Margarita. I must admit it was a strange experience getting to know her, and I’m not really sure if I learned much about sorcery. I took Itxaro with me a few times and that is how we heard about Mab and were commissioned to build the bridge in the Cave of Malamort.”
“I’ve not met Margarita. She must be a strange woman. How did you find her?”
“I must admit I was quite nervous before meeting her. She has a certain reputation, after all – not the least for her fierce temper. But, with time and greater acquaintance, I came to greatly admire her. She is, of course, wise, but she also has a lot of vigour. For the past ten years or so she has looked after orphans, outcasts, and strays of one sort or another. It hasn’t been easy for her, but she has cared for them and brought them up.”
“She does indeed sound a great soul. Someone the great ones around the land could learn much from, I’d venture. But what of Mab? Did you find out much about her?”
“Only that she is very much from the same mold as Margarita, but older. I did get the impression, though, that even Margarita was afraid of her…”
“Oh – she intrigues me. We will no doubt learn more soon. We can’t be far away from this cave now. Come, let us catch up with my brother – he is so far ahead.”
Further up the trail, Itxaro’s handsome face looked lost in thought. As though in a daze, he was trying to recall events that had happened at the beginning of their journey. He had become exhausted by the effort and still the memory was so clouded it was as though he had awoken from a long dream and was only able to remember a tiny, faded trace. He was sure that his three companions, even more than he, were completely oblivious of what had taken place just before they had set out. At least Itxaro could recall that they had all taken an unusual drink or potion. Yes, something very distinctive about the taste. Could that be the reason why their minds were such a blank? And something else. Just before the French border, they had met with several strangers. It was near Zugarramurdi[ii] in Navarre. That much he remembered. But the name and the people they met were a blur, shadows behind a veil.
His horse suddenly quickened its pace and jolted him. As if by reflex he shook his head, to break free of the gloomy thoughts and emerge into the present. Entering a clearing the light increased and he became aware for the first time of the faint but insistent sound of water on rock. Surely now, even though the way ahead was obscured in mist, they had reached the end of their journey. Itxaro drew his horse up a short slope onto a mound and waited for the others to approach.
"Brothers, I am sure that we have finally reached our destination. List! Can you hear that sound? I am sure it must be the mighty falls of Malamort." He spoke with such a genial inflection in his voice that everyone broke out in smiles and hugged and congratulated each other. Itxaro laughed again, turned, and guided his horse forwards a few steps, untied a brass hunting horn from his belt, and blew long and heartily, making the high, piercing sound – like seven trumpets blown by seven angels - reverberate through the whole valley.
Chapter Three
The Return of Basajaun, March 1627
It was morning. The spring breeze was thieving hats. Tall, swaying masts of silver birches shadowed a young sailor, home from across the wide ocean. He strode the rocky road that wound through the round hills of the Pyrenees and lifted his head to the misty March sky above. His thoughts, normally supple and airy, were now immersed in guilt and unease. Around a dozen of his own crew (out of more than thrice that number) had not survived the shipwreck. ''I'm free. But yet not free. What bargain have I made? What of all those ingots lost in the deep? I wonder… Someday I must return, I’m certain ...''
His sharp eyes did not miss the familiar muddle of tracks no wider than duck ways that skirted the dusty amber path. "Nearly home...I wonder what I'll find?'' he muttered. Since sailing out from Hendaye two years before in search of wealth and fame he had heard only snatches of news. The doting mother and high-spirited father he left behind for the shifting silver mounds of New Spain were now no more. This much he knew. At least they were spared the ignominy of his return in relative penury. In his impatience to meet the mysteries ahead and battle with the demons within, he lifted his head up to the latticed light again and sang defiantly.
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Chapter Four
Adopted Urchins
Behind the curtain of water that is the Falls of Malamort, there are several crevices in the limestone rock wall. One of these is long and narrow and leads to the opening of a winding cave that plunges deep into the mountain. Here, shafts of pallid light penetrate narrow rents in the limestone and splinter to create clusters of starry pearls. Within the cave you would not, perhaps, have expected to find two urchins lurking on the glassy slopes of an underground pool. But they seemed to have adapted well to the strained light trembling from beams that danced on small falls of water.
“Wherein do you think lies her power, Naurbenn?” posed the smaller of the two, Menel, who scratched her dirt-smudged face which was as freckled as the egg of a house sparrow. They were discussing their godmother, Mab, who had taken them in some while ago. Naurbenn straightened the natural arch of his back, craned his neck, and gazed at the sooty folds on the roof of the cave. He stared with such intensity as though the answer was written on the roof. “Perhaps she has a pact with the creatures here…”
“Look! There are fish,” Menel interrupted. The next second she had slipped into the cool waters and was scuttling across the cloudy shadows.
She burst to the surface. “I can’t see a thing…Ahhhhbrrrr!''
A foot had alighted on Menel’s head from the gloomy air around. When she turned round, spluttering, she looked up in panic at an elderly personage whose pale skin had a texture, not unlike the scum of the pond around them “Godmother! I didn’t know…”
“Fools! Wastrels! I know you didn’t know. Despite those large ears you have not heard the loud blast of the hunting horn which resounded through the valley outside just a half minute ago. You were instructed specifically to listen for it.”
“We’re sorry. Then - it must be them – the travellers. We must go…”
“Of course it is the travellers, mutton heads! You must not just go – you must fly! Your noble sister, Harbonde, awaits them. Go quickly! Now!” screeched Mab, sneering at the urchins with her rat-like nose and eyes, before disappearing as instantaneously as a bat.
They sprang like fire devouring stubble up the rubble-strewn slopes. In no time they reached the path which levelled to a narrow passage, where the moist air from the valley seeped in in a shaft of bluish light. Outside they could hear twigs crackling, the sound of hooves click-clacking on boulders, and faint mumbling.
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Chapter Five
The Abode of the May Queen
As Menel and Naurbenn emerged from their fox-hole entrance beside the roots of a balsam fir tree, they had to shield their eyes from the light for several seconds, even though the afternoon had advanced to early dusk. Their senses murmurating, both from anxiety and the cool, bleak air, they were seized with panic. Fortunately, after half a minute, they were able to focus normally. As they made their way through the tangled undergrowth the play of light flashed behind stout sycamore trunks, lush, unfurled ferns, and knotgrass. After following a path near the falls of Malamort, they were suddenly confronted by four strange creatures, considerably taller than themselves. The one nearest to them dismounted straightaway from his horse and bowed low and courteously. Both were caught off guard by his sudden movements, but when they were able to see his features clearly - visibility here was made difficult by the misty spray from the waterfall - they were reassured. Menel stepped forward, composed.
''Greetings, your worships! Do you seek the cave of Malamort? We are expecting you – but you are human like us – not creatures from another world! Mab told us that you are the Mairuak. We did not know what you would look like. But we had heard rumours that you are cave dwellers that have webbed feet, like ducks!”
The slim, fair figure who stood in front beside his horse, tilted his head and grinned. His mood of despondency had entirely lifted. He beamed at the two urchins and spoke in a warm, brisk voice.
“Young friends, we are pleased to meet you. I can assure you that our feet are not webbed and that we are not cave dwellers. I am Itxaro of Haute-Navarre. I live with my father and mother and brother in the Palace of Ursua[iii], our family home. It is more a large house than a palace, standing proudly in the village of Arizcun in the valley of Baztan.” He paused. He then put his arm on the shoulder of the comrade beside him on his right.
“This is my dear brother, Ibarra, the thoughtful one'' The tall figure, similar in age to young Itxaro bowed gracefully. Allow me also to introduce my twin cousins, Azti and Zorion.” Itxaro and Ibarra stepped back as two equally sprightly companions came forward. They flexed their knees to shake the urchins warmly by the hand. “Perhaps you have heard, we are all masons and have come to construct a bridge in your cave…”
“We are delighted…your worships - but why are you called the Mairuak?” asked Menel.
“We are known as the Mairuak because,” Itxaro began, “well…Ibarra will tell you...”
The tall Ibarra smiled and gave a philosopher’s tilt to his head.
“Well…I can try. You seem to think I know a lot about the subject, Itxaro,” faltered Ibarra, looking askance at his brother, “Well all I can say is that they are known in Basque legend and story as builders of the great monuments that existed in these lands even before the Romans of old. It is, of course, quite true that they have or had webbed feet – I suppose because they were in and out of underground streams so much of the time. Well, that is the legend and, whether we willed it or not, their reputation caught up to us – because we too are craftsmen and builders of monuments.”
“Ah, we better watch we don’t get webbed feet,” spluttered Menel, “because we live in a cave with streams all around…”
“There is another reason that we are known as the Mairuak,” cut in Itxaro. “Our grandparents and great-grandparents were at the final stand at the Siege of Amaiur[iv] when Navarra fell to the Kingdoms of Castille and Aragon. Those who survived were celebrated. They are known as the ‘Amaiuak’ but because of errant ways this word became ‘Mairuak’. And so it clings to us.”
Naurbenn stepped forward, bowed, and spoke nervously. “You are far from your native land. How did you find your way here?”
“Well, we have ridden by green ways and through wood and waste for a week,” explained Itxaro. “But before we left Navarre we were given instructions from a wise woman whom we know. Her name is Margarita. In our land, she is known as a Sorgina, but here, perhaps you may call her a sorceress.”
Menel started to jump up and down when she heard this. “But, our godmother, Mab, who guards and protects us all within our cave – she also is a sorceress. Though we don’t call her that to her face…”
“Mab – yes, we know of her,” interrupted Itxaro. “Margarita has often spoken of her. Indeed that is why we come to be here. We received a letter from her. She told us that there was a great flood within your cave some time ago. Is that true? Did that happen here?”
“Yes, that truly happened!” shouted out Menel and Naubenn at the same time. “It had rained for two days without stopping,” continued Menel. “The whole mountain was a sea of raging water. These caves had been a refuge for many years for many families who have lost their home…”
“Is that how you both came to be here?” inquired Zorion.
“Well…yes…that is right. Several years ago we lived with our family in Nègrepelisse[v], miles to the south of here, near Montauban. It was a Huguenot town and it was under siege by King Louis’s soldiers. After a bloody battle, they broke down the walls and slaughtered nearly everyone. There were so many bodies you couldn’t walk in the streets…”
“In the name of God! How did you survive that?”
“We were just children. Nearly the only ones left alive. We just lay down flat on our faces before them. We were all crying. We shouted out, ‘We won’t be Parpaillots anymore! We will be Ravaillacs!’ Those were the hate names for Calvinists and Catholics in our town. When they heard us saying that the soldiers weren’t angry anymore, because they believed we had converted!”
“Dios mio! It was a merciful God who spoke for you!” whispered Itxaro. “I see now why you seem older than your years. But how did you come to be here?”
Menel became even more animated. “We arrived just after that storm we were telling you about. Wretched. Barely able to stand. Mab brought us into the cave and fed us. Inside here it was chaos. There were many who drowned. Many bodies had to be buried. It was the younger folk mainly who survived. They were able to crawl up into the high crevices and smaller tunnels. Everyone was cold, frightened, and starving. But over time Mab made everything safe. She provided food. The caves where we live now are like a palace. There is even gold and precious gems hidden in secret places…”
“Hush, Menel, we are not supposed to tell…” whispered Naubenn.
“Oh yes…ignore that I pray you your worships…I forgot…where was I? Well - we should tell you about Harbonde. She is the oldest of the children who survived and we have made her our queen. She is just seventeen and so lovely that some say that she really is a princess or from a noble family and that she lost her kin as we did in the religious wars. We don’t know if that is true or not but you will see that Mab treats her like she is a real queen.”
“We are filled with anticipation,” declared Itxaro. “From the letter that we have seen, we are to construct a bridge across a fast-flowing river – called Snake River, I believe. Also from what I hear, we will be expected to improve the flood defences within. That is so, isn’t it?”
“You will discover more when you meet Mab and all of our brothers and sisters who live within the cave,” insisted Menel. “But we must delay no longer. Mab will chide us for keeping you too long outside in these damp cloud mists.” A nervous tremor in her voice betrayed her concern. If they were not too late, perhaps that would mitigate her wrath.
''But what of our ponies? We can't abandon them,'' urged Ibarra.
''We will look after them. Bring them along. We will enter the cave by the wide entrance of the falls,'' explained Naubenn. “They are fine horses.”
''Yes, they are known as the Pottok,'' explained Itxaro. ''They are true mountain horses. This one is known as Haizea,'' he continued, gently stroking a dark-spirited mare with a wild long coat. ''She is as strong as the wind and can climb any mountain pass even when choked with snow.''
Naubenn was enchanted by the ponies and circled around Haizea and the others, petting them as if they were babies in a cradle. But his tenderness was rudely interrupted by Menel, who grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along the path, shouting, ''Follow us! We must hurry. Your worships, our godmother and queen await you. Hurry!''
The urchins skipped rapidly down the path leading to the waterfall. Itxaro quickly turned their horses round but had great difficulty keeping up with their hosts. The mountain shelf that they just come from was wide enough for four horses to stand side by side, but as they descended they were forced to proceed in single file. On the mountainside the cliffs overhung, putting them in shadow menacingly. The other slope was wooded and fell away almost vertically, giving the travellers a dramatic view of a range of mountains rippling in the distance to the west. The sun also glided into view opening a beaming rainbow arc in the torrent of tiny droplets which cascaded down the cliff as they approached the falls. The falls themselves suddenly roared into view. It seemed an impassable barrier. Menel, however, continued to descend following a winding path twenty feet from the rushing water. The travellers were by this time thoroughly soaked but enchanted at the prospect of entering the cave.
When they had reached the end of their descent, near the ferocious plunge pool, the urchins raced in behind the racing deluge. They entered into a huge echoing space, which was dimly lit by a pale light that filtered through the rumbling waterfall. A shaft of light also broke through from above and an argent sheen fell from their cloaks as they shook and whirled themselves around.
"Leave your ponies there," said Naubenn. He indicated a sheltered dry sandy shelf which could be described as a natural stables. "Don't worry. We will arrange for someone to come and take care of them. They will be well looked after. Look, there is a huge haystack under those blankets so they will not go without food." The travellers tied them to a nearby post of calcified rock, brought them copious bundles of hay, and hurried after the two sprightly figures, who had already returned to the stream. They followed it for a while and entered a cellar-like cave supported by huge pillars on either side. Menel and Naurbenn had acquired some torches from the base of a pile of rocks, which they lit with pieces of flint from the pile.
All around they could hear the sound of water dripping, ticking, splashing. “Sounds like a drowned organ,” whispered Azti. “Look at those stalactites!” Zorion gasped. “They look like jellyfish or the snaky tresses of Medusa!”
“Or Ibarra when he has just woken up,” muttered Azti. As they continued they noticed that some of the stalagmites formed fantastic magnolia-coloured conical pedestals. Itxaro remembered childhood stories he had heard - about the ghosts of petrified bears, wizards, and ogres found in caves. They were all astonished to see scores of bats clustered in tight huddled roosts on the distant ceiling.
Emerging from several tunnels, the travellers were confronted by a swirling river where two shapely wooden boats were tethered. The prow of the first was fashioned into the head and neck of a swan and the sides were wrought into lifelike wooden wings. As it passed, Itxaro and Ibarra jumped in with their guides. Azti and Zorion followed in the second smaller skiff. Although there was little need for anyone to steer, as the strong current guided the boats along, the two elfin youngsters balanced at the back of each boat gripping tightly to a flimsy rudder.
In no time at all, they came to the rapids. The boats tipped, dipped, and rolled in the boiling white water. "Snake River!" Naubenn yelled to the others above the turbulence. "Here - your bridge!" he continued, pointing, and making an arc with his arm. "We have chosen a pleasant spot, have we not?" Itxaro and Ibarra looked at each other and raised their eyebrows. They did not know whether to gasp at the challenge of the task or smile at the mischievous irony of his comment. They did not have the time to do either for straightaway both boats ground to a halt so abruptly that they were all almost flung out. They had beached on a shallow bank of pebbles.
A grinning shape suddenly appeared in front of them. He wore a pair of antlers attached to a cap on top of his black hair. His face was light fawn in colour and inscribed with deft twirls - coil-like and winding as snakes. His ears were pointed and his hair was also spiked with grassy stalky leaves protruding, some quill-like with peacock blue feathery fronds. Another creature - this time a dwarf - came out of the shadows behind him. He wore a green velvet cloak and carried a long pipe. They both bowed shyly but graciously and ran ahead of them.
All around the air had the strange smoky fragrance of a cathedral. The ground became more uneven and as they descended steeply into a murky recess they became aware from the cool moist atmosphere that there was water nearby.
''Hurry. Get in quickly'', shouted a silhouetted figure just ahead of them. The voice echoed. As they reached the edge of what seemed to be a small lake, they were able to make out the singular features of the dwarf that they had just seen. He was standing up to his waist in the water dragging a large barge that suddenly grated to a halt. Inside as they climbed aboard they were also reacquainted with the elfin, spiky creature with the swirly markings. “Excellencies! My name is Kehrahn''. His voice was sweet-sounding. Almost like a reeded instrument. ''I am the Royal Boatman. Welcome to our palace. I shall take you to the bower of our queen. Her name is Harbonde. She is not really a queen. But we call her our queen.''
Kehrahn steered the barge like a gondolier. After a short while, everything became clearer like a sudden moonrise. They could now see a bank ahead and a welcoming party on the far shore of the lake. When the barge reached the shore they got out, ascended several steps, and knelt before the group standing in an arc in front of them. In the centre stood the most wonderful figure that the travellers had ever seen. ''Your Majesty!'' Itxaro wanted to say more, but this was all he could manage in his excitement and diffidence. Menel and Naubenn, however, were much more preoccupied with trying to quantify the malevolence in the wrinkled brow of Mab, which was contorted in at least five ways.
''Distinguished guests, we have waited long for your coming. You have been highly recommended. Let me introduce you to our dear godmother, Mab.” An elderly figure, feeble, sullen, and stiff barely acknowledged them with any change of expression. She did not move from the shadows of the recess at the side of the cave. Harbonde ignored the behaviour of the elderly matron. She continued to smile and sparkle. “We are so pleased that you have come and we will celebrate our joy with feasting, song, and laughter. Welcome. Our home is yours!''
Itxaro and the others arose. The queen's beaming face and beauty took their breath away. Although there were many happy smiling faces in front of them, it was to the queen's radiance that their eyes were immediately drawn. She wore a headband of blue flowers almost hidden by many clusters of curls. Her honey-coloured hair was partially tied with a green veil that glittered at the back but then fell down like a cascade over her shoulders and back. She wore a light silk dress of a strange colour - somewhere between pastel green and jade and it was belted with garlands of roses. Her arms were bare and, although her skin was pale, it had a bleached sun glow. She turned to the urchins. ''Menel, Naubenn, thank you for acting as stalwart guides to our distinguished guests. Go and show them to their sleeping quarters.'' The two gamins, given this lifeline, convened the Mairuak speedily and scurried away, averting their gaze from the glowering gills of Mab, who had stepped forward with taut knuckles, as if determined to grab their scrawny hides.
Harbonde's voice was loving and yet confident and decisive. She reached down to lift the train of her dress, while at the same time giving instructions to the band of attendants who scrambled all around her. Several others she dispatched to the kitchen to ensure that the final preparations were made. Some were ordered to prepare and decorate the dining hall. Others to bring water and other drinks from the cellars. ''Do not rest till all is finished!'' she announced finally. With that, she clapped her hands, spun round, and with her feet hardly touching the ground, stole away to her bed-chamber to prepare herself for the feast.
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The first thing that Itxaro sensed on waking was a low plaintive sound. It struck up a feeling of wistfulness and yearning. A musical strain filled the air. He roused his companions and hurried them from their chamber towards the subliminal sounds.
After a short while they entered a hall, which, although large, was enclosed by a low vaulted roof. Everywhere they looked there was something spectacular to behold. Above there were galleries on both sides of the hall. Angelic voices sang out from every direction. They halted in their tracks to listen.
Pleasant is our feast today,
Fanfare flare, our bounty share.
Gourd and berry seek the sun.
Feathery fronds swell with ease,
When night air cools, gather round.
Dance like the anemones.
We'll drink dew from feverfew,
And play all day in waterways.
We'll learn how to be good always,
And rest before our next forays.
Silver the waves in the swift black streams,
And lit with the moonlight beaming.
Fill up our tables one and all,
Come feast with candles gleaming.
Pleasant is our feast today,
Fanfare flare, our bounty share.
Spontaneous songs then burst out all around, mostly in the form of rounds. A group of youngsters playing harps, lutes, recorders, and tambourines played with such fervour that their plaintive airs shut out all other thoughts. And while this was going on, all around from every direction, youths carrying jellies and sweetmeats circled and crossed in front of them, offering them tempting delicacies before placing them on the tables. The three tables were placed in a semi-circle facing the high table, which was on a dais. The aroma from the floral table decorations softened the musty dank air of the cave.
''Do you think all this is in our honour?'' whispered Itxaro to Ibarra, who was blushing nervously like someone who had just been given a prize unexpectedly.
''I wonder if I am dreaming,'' he replied. ''Have you ever seen such wonders? It is truly enchanting.'' Itxaro was then about to speak to Azti and Zorion when they were addressed by Kehrahn, the ferryman, who suddenly appeared from behind. ''Honoured guests! We hope you are well-rested and refreshed after your arduous journey. But you must also be famished. Let us waste no more time. See! Our queen awaits you!''
The queen arrived with a medley of pipes, drums and a crescendo of voices. The travellers were brought to the top table and invited to sit facing her. Taking their seats they encountered once more the severe elderly personage, now sitting next to Harbonde. As they reached over to greet the grand dame they expected the features of her face to register some acknowledgement or sign of friendship. Instead, she stared blankly at the guests for an uncomfortable length of time and then looked down at the table. ''I am sorry if you find me unfriendly. I am old, as you see. I do know that you have come from far at our request, but I do not know you personally. I will come to know you by your deeds. Until such time, you will permit me to reserve my judgement.''
Her voice sounded low and rough, like a cart-horse scraping its shanks on an oak tree. She adjusted her long twig-like silver hair, which was tied neatly with an angora chignon, and moved a ram's horn oil lamp to the centre of the table.
''Oh Mab, please do not spoil our happy day,'' remonstrated the queen. ''Such prattle and palaver! How can you puzzle and upset our noble guests? Can you not imagine what sacrifices they have made already - to journey for over a week and then to give their time and skill for the construction of the pontoon that we have long desired?'' She turned to her guests. ''Gentlemen, while you are here at Monteil I do not want you to be inconvenienced or troubled in any way. I wish only for your time with us to be as happy as May - that sweet month which is now here.''
''Your majesty, lovely queen of the May,'' said Itxaro, ''I know I speak for all of us when I say that your hospitality and kindness have no parallel. Granted we have left our homes and families and doubtless we wish to return to them. But in the meantime there is no other place that we would wish to be nor other company that we would want to be among.''
''Well said, dear Itxaro. You are most kind and your dear brother and cousins also,'' replied Harbonde, smiling winsomely at the four delighted faces opposite. “Tell us, dear friend, about your father. Was he also a skilled builder?”
“Indeed he was, yes,” added Itxaro. “A master mason now retired. But it’s also true that we all have the blood of conquerors and explorers, who have searched for gold and kingdoms in faraway places across the oceans. Our grandfathers were noble adventurers…”
“Prattle and palaver,” cut in Mab. “It is rare for those who look for gold to find it.”
“And that is quite true in our case, dear lady. Our grandfathers searched for Eldorado, but it eluded them...”
“Mab, please, let us respect the noble lineage of our guests. I would dearly like to hear more about their exploits. Perhaps you will tell us soon. But…now! Menel, Naubenn! Come! Get organised! Bring forth the fruit course straightway. We have fasted sufficiently. Now we must eat!'' She clapped her hands again and in no time a fabulous fruit dish appeared before them. Each plate was laden with slices of melon, dripping with a syrup that tasted of wild strawberries. When Itxaro had finished this, the first of many courses, he smiled shyly as he observed Harbonde eating daintily. She had barely begun to eat her own dish as she was continually interrupted by youngsters inquiring about the food and seeking her advice. Each time she caressed them, whispered assurance, and kissed them on the cheek. Itxaro was charmed and transported. He was beguiled by the playful pouting of her lips, which were full and pink, and spellbound by the ardour and purity of her green-blue luminous eyes. On many occasions during the meal their eyes met and gradually he became aware that her eyes had deepened and had become less mobile. It was as though all thoughts had been displaced. Itxaro felt he was experiencing something eternal and beyond all knowledge. Harbonde also felt strangely in the thrall of something unfamiliar. Although Itxaro had become less and less distracted by the laughter, chatter, and continual flurry of activity all around him, he could not help his eyes flashing at odd moments in the direction of Mab, who did not flinch from her mood of melancholy. He continued to be unsettled by what he still perceived as strong disapproval of him by the elderly matron. However, he was unable to dwell long with these thoughts.
As though from under the table a flautist suddenly appeared. He was tall and thin, wore a shaggy coat and the mask of a goat and had two squat deer antlers on his head. Dancing feverishly while playing a haunting rhythmic tune on the flute he was joined by youths wearing floral hats and gem-encrusted coats. The rhythmic music, dancing, banging of drums and singing was too sensational to ignore. Before two cups could be clinked together everyone was on their feet, clapping merrily, linking arm in arm, and leaping and spinning across the whole length of the cave.
Even though the music and merry-making continued for several hours, Itxaro and his friends were still light of foot and ready for more. All pain had vanished from them during the enchantment of the evening and they felt they walked with bards and Muses.
At length Harbonde summoned them. The lilt and pace of the music changed. To a gentle sweeping harmonious lay accompanied by the harp and lyre, Harbonde took each in turn and glided with them across the room. Everyone stood to watch the rhapsody of movement. She held each of her partners with a loving smile and each felt that their feet had left the floor. Itxaro was the last to dance with her. Indeed, he was wondering if he would be chosen at all. Then she stood before him. He took her hand and they began a promenade. They then turned in pirouette, their eyes fixed and lost in a continuous gaze. She placed her right hand lightly on Itxaro's left shoulder and then raised it slowly and let it fall like a feather as she whirled around. Itxaro's posture was straight and square, but he moved rhythmically to the music and was sure-footed. He was not aware of anything in the room except Harbonde's dazzling eyes and the blur of the candlelight circling around him. Harbonde seemed equally captivated. Neither wanted the music to end, but eventually it did. Breathless and happy she led Itxaro to the others and thanked and complimented them all.
Itxaro stood, flustered, and tongue-tied. He could only manage a brief thank you, but, as she walked slowly away, his mind was still swimming to the sway of the dance and his eyes were wedded to her retreating form. He could think of nothing except the rush and pulse of the moment and he was aware that something magical had happened.
Harbonde, still flushed and short of breath, was also overcome and lost in a waking dream with non-stop sensations filling her thoughts. One of the first to speak to her was the lugubrious Mab, but Harbonde could not resist embracing her and kissing her warmly on the cheek. Mab, however, was unmoved. ''Majesty, I can see that you look the very flower of youth and beauty but take care that there is no pillager near and that he does not imperil your heart. My dearest one, my royal angel, I speak from my own heart. There is disquiet in my bones and my soul!''
''My dearest Mab, you do afright me. I do not know of what you speak. Can you not see that I am as happy as all the blessings in the world? I know that you are as wise as a hare, but where is your faith? Hips and whortleberries! Put away your frown. I could furnish a house with your fiddlesticks! Come, see me to my chamber and let us have no more mealy faces.''
''Dearest one, excuse me. See your attendants have come. I must sit awhile. I fear that I am unwell.''
''Dear Mab. Then they will take you to our chamber. Come!'' She clapped loudly and instructed the maidens who gathered round to escort Mab to Harbonde’s chamber.
In an unbroken swoon, Itxaro had returned with his friends to his room. ''My dear brothers,'' he announced, turning to them dramatically, ''have we not been daring to have entered such a divine and beautiful world and to have tasted such wonderful delights?
''I think it has been a banquet beyond compare,'' agreed Ibarra, pinching himself and pinching the others playfully. He then turned to Itxaro and blurted out, ''But look at your face! You’re glowing. You look like a bowl of jewels! I am sure that you are bewitched! Itxaro, do you think that the old matron – the one called Mab – has done this to you?”
''What? Oh, I don’t know – no, it can’t be her - didn’t we take some salt with us to weaken her powers?” he jested. “But listen, I don’t want to think about that now. I know there is treasure here – real treasure. I am still lost in thoughts about this evening – meeting all these curious people. But - have we not all been transported by this glorious event?'' continued Itxaro. ''As for myself, I sleep and breathe in a world that is entirely strange. But lately, that is how I have felt all of the time. I do not think that I am in possession of my true self. I have felt like this for weeks and I have wondered if you also have felt like this. I sometimes think that I am lost and that my fate is to be forever lost. And such strange dreams have I had. Quite recently a wily shadowy figure has disturbed my thoughts at night - a young man - Basajaun I think he was called. Was it not he whom we met in the mountains, before crossing into France?''
''I do remember that something happened in the forest near the mountains, but, strangely, I cannot remember what it was,'' said Ibarra. ''I do not know why you talk of this now. But now that you mention him - this Basajaun, I do recall him vaguely. Wasn't he the one who plied us with wine and acted as though he owned the forest? I should remember more about him, but perhaps I had drunk too much wine. But didn’t he tell us to look for treasure here?”
“I’ve told you. The only treasure is where the heart is…Can’t you see that?”
“You’re away on wings. I’ll try to follow you on my bony mount…Oh, come, let us talk of this another time. Aren’t you tired?''
''I am not tired at all, Ibarra. It is only that my thoughts are spinning and taking me, I know not where. But you are right. We should not talk about that now. See where our cousins are already abed. They must have forgotten that we have a bridge to build!''
''I do not think they have forgotten. It is surely right that we should rest first!''
''I could start work right now. I have no need of sleep.''
''Itxaro, rest now. If you are still restless, I will wake you in a few hours.''
''Yes, be sure to. I do not think I can sleep. But if I do - rouse me as if my life depended on it.''
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NOTES [i] Mairuak - Mairu (plural: Mairuak), [also called Intxisu in the Bidasoa valley], are creatures of Basque mythology. They were giants who built dolmens or harrespil (stone circles). Like the dolmens, they are only found in mountains. They are often associated with lamia [see note 19]. Mairu means "moor" in Basque. This term is used with the sense of 'non-Christian' to refer to former civilizations or megalithic monuments. [ii] Zugarramurdi - a town in the province of Navarre in northern Spain. It passed into history as the setting of alleged occult activity featured in the infamous Basque witch trials held in Logroño in the early seventeenth century. The town is home to the Basque witch museum and the Witch Caves. Every year, spectacular fires are lit in the caves near Zugarramurdi for the celebration of the ‘day of the witch’ on the summer solstice. [iii] Palace of Ursua - The surname Ursua is of an old and noble lineage that originated from Arizcun, in the valley of Baztan in the Basque Kingdom of Navarra, where the historic " Palacio de Ursua," which served as the household of the Ursuas, was situated. According to testimonies, since the beginning of the Monarchy, the house of Ursua was referred to and acknowledged as being owned by leaders famous for their courage. One interpretation of the name is that it came from the Basque word ‘usoa’, which means pigeon or dove. This interpretation would explain the presence of the three black pigeons in the coat of arms. [iv] Siege of Amaiur - The fortress of Amaiur, situated on a hill overlooking the village, was one of the key medieval strongholds of the Kingdom of Navarre. It withstood the Castilian invasion of 1512. There were frequent battles at this time between the combined French-Navarrese and the Spanish imperial forces (Ferdinand the Catholic, Charles V), with the most famous being the Battle of Amaiur (-Maya) in 1522, the last Navarrese stronghold to resist the Spanish (Castilian-Aragonese) assault. [v] Nègrepelisse massacre - was a 1622 siege and massacre by troops of the young French king Louis XIII against the Protestant stronghold of Nègrepelisse in France. This siege followed the Siege of Montauban, in which Louis XIII had failed against the Huguenot city. The city was captured after a short siege, but all the inhabitants were massacred, without distinction of age or sex; practically all women were raped, and the city was looted and burnt to the ground. This severe treatment was due to the false claim that a Royal regiment left in garrison in the city by the Duke of Mayenne had been exterminated by the citizens. The king had ordered: I command you to give no quarter to any man, because they have irritated me, and shall be served as they have treated the others.— Louis XIII.
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