The tribe engulfed Lucius. Skin drums and reed pipes appeared as the people of Mamm an Bys danced and fluted their way up the sandy path to the grassy headland above the cliff. They rarely entertained strangers, and he was a welcome diversion from their usual routine. Laughing and joking, they spoke excitedly to him and to each other along the way. He could not understand a word but was struck again by the happiness on their faces.

There is a mystery here, he thought. I have never seen so much peace and joy amongst the brothers on Inissi Leuca. What is it that the Pagani have that Christians are missing?

They brought him to their village of round stone houses overlooking the sea.

“Mar plek. Please come in my house,” said Hammitt, gesturing Lucius inside.

The house was large, being the home of the head man—so large that the entire tribe could sit comfortably around the rock-rimmed central hearth for a formal meeting or feast. Beds ranged along the walls and covered with grasses and skins also made comfortable benches.

While Hammitt’s wives cooked, a storyteller talked, sang, and pantomimed a long seafaring tale. Lucius followed little of it but enjoyed the spectacle, especially as he was clutching a frequently replenished wooden cup of corma, made all the more potent by his empty stomach. He joined in the riotous laughter at all the appropriate moments.

When the feast at last appeared, it was served on huge wooden platters that were passed around so everyone could reach in with their bare hands. There were boiled gull’s eggs, roasted fish of many kinds, cooked shellfish, dried seaweeds, and fresh puffball mushrooms.

The main course was a huge joint of meat that had been rubbed with mashed wild garlic and sea salt, wrapped in several pounds of moist bread dough, and left smoldering on the embers to cook all day while the tribe worked on the boat. Only the bottom of the dough was charred by the fire, and when the round shell of bread was cracked open, it and the meat within were cooked to perfection.

Lucius quickly learned his first Cornubian expression. “Meur ras ta means ‘thank you,’ the most important words in our language,” said Hammitt.

The tribe prepared to sing, tell stories, and drink corma all evening. At one point, Meraud appeared and gestured for Lucius to follow her outside. Hammitt was to accompany them as translator. As they left the building, a matronly looking woman handed Lucius a woolen cloak against the damp sea mist.

Their way lit by a single torch, they left the house and plunged into the black of a moonless night. Once again, Lucius felt that he was on an otherworldly quest.

“I am relaxed and full of food, so I might as well enjoy it,” he thought as they negotiated the narrow, stony path through the surrounding darkness.

They came to a place even darker than the surrounding night. After a moment of disorientation, Lucius registered that he was standing before a cave. As Meraud spoke and gestured, the shells and stones in her hair clinked softly. Hammitt translated:

“This is the fogo of Mamm an Bys, the Earth Mother. Very sacred. Mamm an Bys teaches the people how to grow the grain and how to grind it to make bread. Here we pray our thanks, and here we store food. Here we also hide when enemies come. Come inside, make a prayer.”

As they entered the pitch-dark passageway, the single torch guttered, and Lucius saw an altar against the wall. It featured the carved image of a mermaid and a small figure of a bull.

“Who is this altar dedicated to?” he asked.

“That is the altar of Kana’nim. Those people always visit on their way to Ictis Insula for tin trade and come inside the fogo of Mamm an Bys to pray their thanks at reaching land. They have gods—El and Baal—and goddesses—Astarte-yam and Asherar-yam. They say Astarte-yam appears as a mermaid. She is also Earth Mother and Sky Mother. Which gods hear you?”

“Oh, who do I pray to?” He was about to say “the one God,” as he had been taught on Inissi Leuca, but he realized that this statement was no longer true. His experiences had revealed that there were more gods and more mysteries in the world than he had ever imagined possible.

“I pray to the god of my people … and I pray to the gods of your people,” he finally responded.

Meraud’s wrinkled old face lit up like a summer’s day.

“Yes! This is good! We will go to the holy well!” she said in passable Gaulish, grabbing him excitedly by the sleeve and pulling him back into the soft dark.

“Meur ras ta,” he murmured to the guardian spirit who kept watch over the people of Mamm an Bys.