2 - The Druids and Their Legends

As the Roman Empire spread, so did Roman ideas and traditions, among them witchcraft. It did not just have to go with the Romans; sometimes it was there ahead of them, waiting, willing, and wanting them to catch up with it which, naturally, they did. Often the Romans identified the local gods in terms of their own, for the fact that the Romans were the victors proved that the gods were on their side, and that in itself was sufficient reason for the vanquished nations to accept the Roman rule. In short, Roman domination was furthered by making due allowance for the superstitions of the conquered peoples; and that included witchcraft.

One notable exception was Britain, where the real rulers consisted of a cult of robed and bearded mystics called Druids, who practiced potent witchcraft of their own. They performed their rites out of doors, either amid great circles of massive stone monuments, such as those at Avesbury and Stonehenge, or in the shelter

of sacred groves of oak trees. The Druids were supposedly the offshoots of a much earlier race of sun worshippers, the real builders of the monuments; but it was definitely known that the Druids themselves practiced a fire ritual in which human beings were sacrificed. Only desperate criminals were supposed to be thrown into the flames, but there was no telling what the Druids might do if they ran out of such timber. Then, any hapless person might be sacrificed.

That, at least, was the argument the Romans used against the Druids. What really worried the Romans were the claims the Druids made; claims which their followers implicitly accepted. Supposedly, the Druids could turn people into stones, like the circles of monoliths where they held their rites. They could raise fogs and create clouds from which they could bring down showers of fire and even blood. They could cause darkness and floods, provide antidotes for poisoned darts, and, best of all, produce tempests strong enough to scatter any enemy fleet that dared approach their shores.

When Julius Caesar invaded Britain in 55 B.C., he met with resistance from the moment he landed, largely because the Britons relied on the Druids to back them. Once established, Caesar sent for cavalry to reinforce his army but, true to form, the Druids raised a tempest that scattered the Roman fleet as it neared the shore, wrecking the ships so badly that the Romans barely managed to piece enough together to withdraw their forces to the mainland.

Caesar came back in 54 B.C., so fully arrayed that the Britons retired before his army's advance. But when they finally gave battle, another tempest — of Druid origin, no doubt! — drove the Romans back to the coast and forced them to begin all over. Caesar termed this expedition a "conquest," but after the tribes submitted one by one, he left Britain and never returned; nor did the Romans attack the island again for nearly a hundred years.

Then, in the wake of a new invasion, the Emperor Claudius arrived with a force so formidable that resistance was impossible. He occupied the native capital of Camulodunum (now the city of Colchester), and Roman legions fanned out from the site of modern London, establishing encampments, encouraging settlers, and driving the Druids into the remote hinterlands. Claudius, on his return to Rome, was honored as a god under the name of Brittanicus in recognition of this achievement.

To give the Britons some form of worship, a temple to Claudius was erected in Camulodunum, with a statue of Victory in its midst. That was a double insult. Brought up to worship nature in the great outdoors, the Britons could not comprehend the confinement of a god within a temple; and the mere sight of Victory in frozen, statuesque form, made them realize that they, the vanquished, were still very much alive. They only wished the Druids would do something about it. So the Druids did.

One sunny day in Camulodunum, the statue of Victory toppled from its pedestal, landed flat on its face and cracked apart. The Britons, knowing nothing of leverage, gunpowder, TNT, or atomic energy, did not have to guess why it happened, because they knew why it did. The Druids did it — and that was that.

So revolt broke out all over Britain. Everything that the Romans had established was torn down, including the Temple of Claudius, alias Deus Brittanicus. However, after the Romans pulled themselves out of the ruins of everything, including Londinium, as they then called London, they went out to find the Druids.

They found them on the Isle of Mona, off the northwest coast of Wales. The island, now called Anglesey, was separated from the mainland by a narrow channel easily crossed by flat-bottomed boats. As the first wave of Romans landed, they were met by a motley army, consisting of the Druids themselves, surrounded by their hard-core followers, including black-clad women with disheveled hair, who rushed about screaming like the Furies and brandishing lighted torches in the faces of the foe.

The robed Druids topped it by raising their hands and eyes to heaven and delivering a loud, weird chant to bring down fire from the sky. Thus encouraged, their armed followers charged the stupefied Romans and would have driven them back into the water but for the fact that new boatloads of arrivals goaded the front ranks forward. The Romans went into action and, when the heavens failed to deliver the anticipated fire, the result was a wholesale slaughter of the Druids and their fanatical followers.

The Romans established an encampment on the island and chopped down the sacred grove where the Druids had held their rites. Though their power as a cult was broken, the scattered remnants of the Druids continued to practice witchcraft and hold secret ceremonies in caverns and forests throughout the remote provinces that marked the fringe of Roman domination, which ended about the year 400. But by then Christianity had gained a hold in Britain, so there was no strong reversion to Druidism.

Instead, many Druid traditions were absorbed into British folklore, along with Roman superstitions, thereby accounting for tales of elves, gnomes, goblins and various forms of fairy folk. These traditions were mixed with the primitive beliefs of the Angles and the Saxons who invaded Britain after the departure of the Romans, driving many of the native Britons into exile. In the course of a few centuries, these newcomers blended with the populace and adopted Christian ways, but many of the old customs still prevailed.

The centuries from the year 500 to 1000 have been aptly termed the "Dark Ages" of European history, due to the disintegration of the Roman Empire and the culture that it represented. So many valuable artifacts and records, which could have shed light on the era, were destroyed by barbarian hordes, that whatever records did remain were a mingling of fact and fancy. English history provides an outstanding example of this blending in the Arthurian Legend, which is of special interest here because it is replete with tales of witchcraft that bridge the gap between ancient and modern beliefs and superstitions.

The real King Arthur was probably a British commander in the service of the Romans, who rallied the native chieftains about him when the legions were withdrawn, thus becoming the nominal king of a temporarily united Britain. The coalition apparently held off the early Teutonic invaders during Arthur's reign, but later, the Britons were driven to the wilds of Wales and Cornwall, from where many eventually sailed for the French coastal region of Armorica, across the English Channel, and founded a colony from which the name Brittany is derived.

Thus, as bards sang the praises of King Arthur through the ensuing centuries, they wove in tales of other heroes until a mighty monarch emerged as head of a heroic band of knights whose exploits were drawn from Roman, Briton, Welsh, Breton, Anglo-Saxon and even Scandinavian lore. By the year 1100, English historians were accepting many of these composite claims as facts and describing the court of King Arthur in terms of the rising chivalry of their own period. But the tales of witchcraft came from those earlier days and their fanciful notions still persisted.

The Arthurian Legend centered about a mythical wizard named Merlin, who packed as much mystic power as a whole den of Druids. He was credited with having transported the huge stone monoliths at Stonehenge from some remote spot across the sea. It was Merlin who provided a marble block containing a mysteriously imbedded sword which Arthur drew from the stone to prove his right to the throne.

King Arthur and his knights frequently encountered witchcraft, good and bad, in the course of their adventures. Once, King Arthur met a warlock disguised as a knight, who suggested a duel in which each, in turn, would have a chance to chop off his opponent's head. He gave King Arthur first turn, and with a single stroke, the king sent the warlock's head rolling on the floor; but the warlock's body sprang after it and his hands placed it back on his neck as good as ever.

The pretended knight gave King Arthur a year to put his affairs in order, before taking his turn to be beheaded. To worry Arthur further, the warlock posed a riddle: What is it that a woman desires most in the world? If the king came back with the right answer, he would call off the duel. All during the year, King Arthur pondered the riddle with the knights of his Round Table, but none of their guesses sounded satisfactory. So at the end of the year he set out for his appointment with doom, with little hope of returning.

On the way, the king met a weird old witch who not only recognized him, but knew of his problem and the answer to the riddle. That which a woman most desires, the old crone cackled, is to have her will. Aiding Arthur even more, she also revealed the secret of the warlock's immunity to sword strokes. Instead of carrying his life in his body, the imitation knight kept it in a small crystal ball inside a large locket that hung from a chain around his neck. At the warlock's castle, King Arthur answered the riddle, snatched the locket from the warlock's neck and broke the crystal it contained, whereupon the conniving warlock dropped dead.

The amulet of the Arthurian legend may have its roots in Druid witchcraft, for they wore large beads of striped colored glass, called "adder eggs" or "snake stones," which they claimed were generated by serpents and could only be gathered on a certain day of the moon. These, when worn, were regarded as charms against various ailments, sometimes even death. As for the life of a person residing in such an object rather than his own body, that notion of an "external soul" could have been brought to England by the Romans, for it is found in ancient Italian witch lore. Or it might have come from Norway via the Hebrides Islands, for it belongs to Norse legend, too; while other fantastic versions have been told throughout the Orient.

As a reward for giving King Arthur the warlock's secret, the old witch demanded the right to marry a knight of the Round Table. When she chose Sir Gawain, King Arthur's nephew, he not only accepted his fate, but treated the old crone with all the courtesy due a bride. The respect Gawain accorded the crone broke a spell that had bewitched her and she turned back into the beautiful woman she was originally. This, too, was typical of the witchcraft of the period.

Beautifully bewitching women abound in Arthurian lore, and sometimes even the power of a sorcerer's magic meets its match at a fair woman's hand, as Merlin himself found to be true. Merlin's first — and most regrettable — mistake was to choose a damsel named Vivien as an apprentice. Once having learned his secrets, Vivien wasted no time in binding Merlin with one of his own spells. So doing, she went on her merry way and established herself in an enchanted castle with a retinue of servants — and there began her woeful deeds. ... Vivien attended a tournament which was won by a knight named Sir Sagron; but instead of being swayed by Vivien's wiles, he bestowed the victor's chaplet upon a local beauty, the Lady Lesolie. Viven, greatly piqued, promptly put an enchantment on a fountain near Lady Lesolie's castle, so that if anyone poured water on a slab beside it, a violent storm would arise and deluge the area.

When a knight in quest of adventure stopped at Vivien's castle, she slyly directed him to the enchanted fountain where he unwittingly raised a storm by pouring water on the slab. Promptly Sir Sagron arrived and challenged him to combat, in behalf of the Lady Lesolie, whose domain had been damaged.

A knight of the Round Table, Sir Uwaine, undertook the adventure at Vivien's instigation; and in the conflict that followed, Sir Sagron finally met more than his match. When Sir Uwaine nearly unhorsed him with a tremendous sword stroke, Sir Sagron, realizing he had suffered a mortal blow, fled for the safety of Lady Lesolie's castle. Sir Uwaine pursued him through the entrance, where the warder let the portcullis fall, killing Uwaine's horse and trapping him within a grilled gate.

That night, while Sir Sagron lay dying, a damsel named Elose approached the gate and slipped Uwaine a ruby ring, telling him to wear it with the stone turned inward. Uwaine did and became invisible, so that in the morning, when men-at-arms opened the gate to look for him, he walked out safely and unseen. Uwaine later returned the magic ring to Elose and she introduced him to the Lady Lesolie, to whom he offered his services as Defender of the Fountain, as a replacement for the dead Sir Sagron.

A romance developed between Uwaine and Lesolie, but as their wedding day approached, he felt it his duty to make a brief trip to Camelot and report to King Arthur. On the way, he made the mistake of stopping at Vivien's castle; and the sorceress, as a pledge of her friendship and good faith — elements entirely lacking in her nature — gave him a ring with a yellow stone, probably a chrysolite, which immediately caused him to forget all that had happened since his previous visit. So Uwaine might never have returned to claim his bride, but for the fact that he stopped overnight at a hut frequented by a band of thieves, who attacked him while he slept and robbed him of all his valuables, including the ring of forgetfulness. Immediately he recalled the Lady Lesolie and returned to her castle and married her, despite Vivien's treachery.

Those were but two forms of belief in the power of magic rings, out of dozens dating from ancient times, with various gems figuring in other forms of witchcraft, such as giving immunity to poison, inspiring happy dreams, increasing wisdom and improving eyesight. In contrast, some could bring misfortune, like Vivien's gift to Uwaine, but that was something the donor never mentioned.

If the skeptics of the Arthurian Era needed anything to convince them that witchcraft existed, nature itself provided the affirmative answer. Just as the Roman god Jupiter hurled down his shafts of lightning, so did Thor, the Teutonic thunder god, but usually with a louder rumble. Eclipses of the sun or moon, appearances of the aurora borealis, otherwise known as the northern lights, and other such natural phenomena were also attributed to supernatural forces.

One of the most notable cases in point involved King Arthur's sister, Morgana Le Fay, who was almost as well-versed in witchcraft as Merlin. She and her followers were supposed to dwell on a floating island called Avalon, which drifted far out to sea, but occasionally came so close to shore that it could be seen from the mainland. Observers gazed in awe at the castellated walls of the mystic city, with turrets and towers surrounded by green groves and sloping lawns. Often, viewers claimed that they heard elfin voices raised in song, coming across the placid sea from Avalon; but that touch was sheer imagination.

What they thought was a fairy isle was actually a mirage, the inverted image of some headland, such as Land's End or another British promontory, whose cliffs produced the illusion of towering walls rising above grassy, tree-studded slopes. Word of that enchanted land spread far during the years and Morgana must have decided to steer Avalon southward during the winter season, for the floating island made occasional appearances in the Straits of Messina, between Italy and Sicily, usually being viewed from the Italian town of Reggio, where it was known by the name of Fata Morgana.

According to legend, when King Arthur was mortally wounded in battle, Morgana Le Fay carried him by boat to Avalon, where he is supposedly still living, due to the potency of her witchcraft, waiting for the day when Britain will need his services again. Meanwhile, the Isle of Avalon has extended its cruising range, for only about half a century ago, strollers on the boardwalk at Atlantic City saw the Fata Morgana floating offshore in all its castellated glory.

Apparently, Morgana had either improved her witchcraft or had put propellers on Avalon in order to make a transatlantic voyage. But such notions faded away like the isle itself, when experts on mirages identified it as the reflected image of Rehobeth Beach, Delaware, a resort located south of the New Jersey coast.

An equally fantastic phenomenon, dating from the days of the Druids, or earlier, concerns the gigantic guardians of the Brocken, the highest peak of the Harz Mountains in Saxony. There, witches galore were supposed to assemble on May Day and Midsummer Eve to perform ancient rites akin to those attributed to the Druids at Stonehenge. Other summits served as similar gathering places, but the Brocken was the most fearful of all. Among the grotesque formations of granite found there are the "Witch's Chair" and the "Devil's Pulpit," which undoubtedly had earlier names of equally grim significance.

In contrast to the Isle of Avalon, which no ordinary mortal could even approach, the Brocken was easily accessible. But no one dared to climb it, except in broadest daylight, for the King of the Brocken took charge at night and sometimes his huge, spectral figure could be seen looming from the mists that gathered in the early dawn, occasionally flanked by equally formidable companions. Sight of such towering guardians invariably scared away the boldest climbers; and all during the period of witchcraft persecutions in Germany, which began about 1500 and persisted for nearly three centuries, the legend of the Brocken grew in proportion to the size of its weird custodians.

It was not until comparatively modern times that this strange phenomenon was both confirmed and explained almost simultaneously. Mountain climbers, who no longer believed in witchcraft, began ascending the Brocken to view the sunrise; and an inn was established there to accommodate them overnight. One man who happened to get up early caught the reflection of the sunrise from low hanging clouds and mist; there, to his amazement, he saw the huge specter, bigger even than the fanciful reports. A wind was stirring and, as the man recoiled, it blew away his hat. He made an instinctive grab and the mammoth figure did the same.

The viewer knew then that he was looking at a projected image of himself, magnified against the mist where it was cast. He hurriedly summoned the innkeeper and when they reached the spot where he had seen the specter, two were there to greet them and mimic all their actions. That explained why superstitious witnesses of an earlier period had seen two or more such phantom shapes. The more viewers, the more reflections, and therefore the more giants.

Of such stuff are legends made, particularly when witchcraft is supposedly involved. But many centuries were to pass before the age of science dawned to counteract such beliefs. What happened during those years between, our next chapters will reveal.