Dawn on the Boyne: Brú na Bóinne

I meán-oirthear na tíre seo, tá mágh leathan féarmhar, idir an tSionainn agus Muir Meann. Is ins an dúthaigh sin a lonnaigh treabh de na feirmeoirí ba thúisce tháinig go hÉirinn.

Gluaiseann abha go mall maordha tríd an machaire, agus ó ba léir dóibh gurb í an abha sin agus a fo-aibhne, le comhoibriú Lúgha, dia na gréine, a bhronn saibhreas ar an gceanntar, thugadar Abha na Bóinne mar ainm uirthi mar omós do Bhóinn, bandia na féile, na feise agus na torthúlachta.

Thagaidís le chéile i gcomhthionól, rí agus mór-uaisle uile na treibhe mar aon le saoithe is baird, aos dána agus aos éigse, ar bhruacha na Bóinne ar uairibh áirithe sa bhliain chun na déithe a onóradh d’réir mar tuigeadh san dóibh: an grian-dia, Lúgh a d’fhéach anuas orthu ón spéir agus a thug teas agus samhradh; déithe na báistí is na gaoithe; dia dorcha na hithreach, agus Bóinn féin, chun buíochas a ghabháil leo agus chun meas agus tairbhe agus rath a iarraidh.

Five thousand years ago, before ever a Pharaoh thought of building a pyramid, a group of farming people left Brittany by sea in search of a new home. They skirted Cornwall and the Scillies, and leaving Wales on their right hand they continued their voyage, north and north again, following Ireland’s eastern coastline to their final landfall, a seaboard nameless then, that in the centuries that followed has had many names and that we now call county Meath. They found a great wide plain where grass grew in abundance and it was there that those early farmers decided to settle. Settled, and in course of time, prospered and multiplied.

A river flows serenely through that chosen land, and since they believed that it was the river that gave the plain its richness, they called it the River of Bóinn, in reverence to Bóinn, the she-god of welcome, intimate embrace and fertility. It is known now as the Boyne.

This river was their life. From its faraway sources it brought water sufficient for all their needs. It was their highway, from its small beginnings far inland to its wide estuary on the sea. It fed them: they had a harvest from the land; a second harvest when the salmon returned to the water that they knew as home; and that same river filled and enriched the sea, from which they took their third harvest.

It was tribal belief that the high goddess had at all times looked favourably on them, even from the beginning. They knew she had helped them to find this happy place; the wide sea-mouth had beckoned, the tide was surging in, and they rode that rising tide as far up the river-valley as it could carry them, then hauled their ships ashore, knowing at once that they had reached their destination, their destined home. They were aware of a debt of gratitude for her guidance and benevolence.

At the ordained times they came together on the banks of their river, king and princes, chieftains, captains, bards and druids, learned men, followers of the noble trades, poets and music-makers, and the smaller people also, with the purpose of paying homage and honour to the gods, as they understood those to be: Lúgh, chief of the gods, who looked down from the sky and gave them summer and warmth; and also Bóinn and the gods of rain and wind, and the dark earth god, to give thanks and to beg for their favour and protection, for bountiful harvest and prosperity.

At a point on the northern bank where the river bends south towards the sun, there is a low hill which gives a view to the four quarters over the level lands, a fit place they thought for a memorial cairn. They wished to repay their debt.

They met in council; they debated; they came to agreement. The project they approved was epic and would require all the energy, skill and strength of every member of the tribe, all their art and science, their utmost ingenuity and dexterity. It would be a challenge and a test, and in order that there be no error, every aspect of the work must be tried and verified beforehand. It was intended as the highest expression of their determination, of their construction genius, and not least, of their intellect and subtle art.

On that small hill they gathered on the appointed day. Those highest in rank in their coloured robes, watched by the others, the humble ones in grey. The sun shone, and this was taken as a sign of approval from Lúgh. He was the one they feared, the only one who showed himself to men, fearless, indifferent. Bóinn they loved, mother of creation and abundance; Lúgh they feared.

A tall narrow stone had been set firmly upright on the level top of the hill. Then as the druids chanted, the king was presented with the ceremonial spear; he walked with deliberate steps to where the shadow of the stone lay on the ground, raised the spear and held it for a moment poised above his head, then brought it down on the end of the shadow, and the throng gave three great shouts.

When a fence had been constructed around that bend of the Boyne, none were allowed inside but those of high rank, the learned ones, and those whose labour or skill or building craft was needed. At first their work centred on the tall pillar-stone and its shadow. Men whose study was the heavens and their changes, moon and stars, now turned their minds more particularly to the movement of the sun as shown by the shadow’s movements, and if any one of these astronomers felt vaguely uneasy (because this was Lúgh, the sun-god, whom they dared not look at), none spoke of his misgiving since the work had been agreed by all the tribe. They marked and recorded at every noon when sunlight threw a shadow. Until the summer solstice that shadow shortened; by slow degrees from that time on it grew in length. What was new in this was the exact recording of their knowledge. Those who directed and recorded were men who had learned many many things, yet were not satisfied, but wanted to know more. They lusted after knowledge of all kinds, of the heavens, of the gods, of man and his place on the earth, of life and death, good and evil, and yet seemed unaware, or indifferent, that that insatiable curiosity does not make men happy but that great sorrows brood there. Whatever fears they may have had, however, were set aside; they continued their research and when they were certain that they knew all they needed about the winter sun’s movement, and not until then, the building of the great Brú began.

Twenty years of their lives they gave to its building, years of unremitting labour. More than a thousand workmen, women too and children, each in accordance with ability, all helped. And not a few who toiled hard and willingly and had seen its simple beginning died without seeing the final achievement. Hundreds of thousands of tons of stone, timber, sand and earth went into the making of this vast dwelling for the goddess. The world’s biggest house, Brú na Bóinne, a circular mound ninety paces across from side to side and covering an acre of ground. Ten spear-lengths in height. Quartz and granite had to be shipped from the Wicklows and the Mournes, though most of the rock was quarried nearby, and thousands, many thousands of water-rolled stones were taken from the river, just half a mile away. The sacred stones were chosen by their king, advised by those who had experience of the many different rocks; then the most gifted masons exercised their cunning to produce works of beauty.

And beneath this marvellous cairn was a greater marvel; on the south-eastern side was the high luminous doorway, with its slit-window above, then a passage leading for five and twenty paces between rows of tall boulders to a chamber at the heart of the Brú, where the stoneworkers had applied their rich lithic art to the walls and the great stone basin. This was the sanctuary of the goddess Bóinn, adorned with every bright wonder.

The last carpet of fine sand was laid on the floor of the sanctuary in autumn of the final year. Should the massive door be rolled shut for security, or left open in welcome? Open, they decided, though no doubt if the goddess wished to come or go a closed door would be no deterrent. They prepared for winter; when crops had been harvested and the days began to shorten, they must often have gazed proudly at the green mound with its stone girdle that stood looking down on the river, a mound that twenty years before had not existed, the triumphal work of their hands. What surprise if they were proud! Pride, mixed perhaps with some anxiety: the shortest day would soon come, a time of the greatest importance. That day when the pulse of life beats slowest almost to a stop was, they believed, the occasion of Lúgh and Bóinn’s assignation when the two met in joyous embrace, and the generous she-god shared her new fertility with all, with men and women, river and plain, herd and harvest. That was their hope, for despite all their previous experience they still feared the wolves of winter. They feared the dying of the light and what even greater terrors it might forebode.

They gathered long before sunrise. Ten had been chosen, those of highest honour, who walked in silence one by one through the high doorway and along the narrow passage into the central room. The faint light of a torch threw dancing shadows on the walls, on the roof-corbels, on the granite basin newly filled with water from the river. Outside were grouped those next in importance, among them the astronomers and the directors of the vast undertaking, and by little and little further and further away, the others, until at a distance was the most numerous group, the labourers, the unconsidered, who gazed upward in wonder, patiently or impatiently, with curiosity, with apprehension, perhaps without understanding clearly what to expect. The night was cold; the minutes crept by; chanting could be heard from the hill; then the black silence fell again.

What were their thoughts, those grey unconsidered? Did they wonder if the huge house that had cost them so much in toil, in injuries and deaths, would make any change in their lives? The open door was meant for Bóinn, but suppose Lúgh entered? And stayed? Suppose he became trapped there, what would that mean? Would it mean that the days, instead of lengthening would get shorter and shorter until – dreadful thought! – no, it was not good to think in that way. Everything would be well, they must trust their leaders. And yet … They had come, indeed, though they hardly knew it, to the dark unspoken thought, too terrifying to be put in words, that lay behind their mid-winter ceremonies.

It was otherwise with those grouped near the high entrance, whose knowledge and search for knowledge had driven this huge project, who had had a high ambition and seen it carried to completion. The dawn came, and by that timid grey light they saw a clear sky and were elated. Impatiently they awaited the sunrise and when the first bright ray appeared above the horizon, they watched intently. The sun-god leaped boldly up. There was nothing of diffidence or humility in him, yet they must wait until the full circle of brilliance had lifted itself free of the earth before they heard the druids’ secret song. Then they knew with certainty that all was well, was as they had foretold, that a seal had been put on their endeavours, and they were exultant. Fame and reward would be theirs.

But what of the ten in the central chamber? It was they who saw the marvel most clearly. They saw the powerful pulse of light that entered by the narrow opening in the lintel and penetrated to the very centre of the Brú, bestowing on the goddess the gift of new life, which she in turn would pass on to the water of the river and the soil of the great grassy plain. At once without premeditation they shouted … a shout that stopped again as quickly, as though they realized that noise of any kind was unbecoming. Silence fell. Yes, they knew that success had crowned all they had toiled for. A palace for Bóinn, yes, but did even one or two among them consider something else: that maybe they had gone too far? For the first time human eyes had seen this intercourse of the gods, and would it have been more seemly if it had not been witnessed? It might have been the wish of Bóinn and of Lúgh that their coming together should take place in secret as it had done since the beginning of the world. It had not been their purpose to offend the gods, rather the opposite, but was that the result of all their mighty exertions? They stared at the golden shaft that ran straight from Lúgh through the crevice above the door. It fell in a yellow pool on the sanded floor and the granite basin; it fell on the feet of the occupants, some of whom moved aside as though unhappy at having that bright light shine on them. And they were silent. From outside they heard the sanas-laoi, the druids’ mystic chant, but in the chamber there was an uneasy silence.

The days went on, however, and everything seemed as before. Even though in some minds there were small doubts lurking vaguely on the edge of consciousness, those who had worried were calmed as time went by with no sign of change. What should they fear? That they might have roused the anger of the vengeful Lúgh, or that they might have hurt, without meaning to, the gentle goddess who had always shown them warm regard and goodwill? But the spring days lengthened as they had always done, the sun still shone and grasses grew, and the seasons followed one another in their turn. Sun, cloud, wind and rain came in due course. And the river continued to bring out of the south its burden of life-giving water, still flooded the inches in winter with fertile silt, and no-one saw any lessening of Bóinn’s beauty and bounty. Trout and salmon leaped in plenty; insects buzzed in the drowsy summer heat where their cattle stood knee-deep in the shadowed water. Willow and alder, the little gilded fly and the stealthy otter, run ripple and reach. The slow laden craft that swung heavily to the current, the dancing coracle light as a hazel-shell on the brimming water. Swallows swooped to drink on the wing, under dark woods or in glittering sparkles of sunlight, where the silent swans sailed by and the grazing cattle never lifted their heads. The grey heron that fished the shallows, and the sudden flash of blue that said kingfisher. Still pools and gliding pebbly bars, ford and white weir. The shouts and splashing of children at the swimming-stone. And there were also the noisy winter geese that came from no-where, that spoiled the river pastures so that their animals would not graze there, but that stayed only a short time; as soon as days grew long they spread their grey wings and followed the tides northwards, back again to the mysterious land from which they had come.

This is the river and these are its gifts, gifts of the she-god – water-lily, dragonfly and blue salmon, pulsing current of life. These remained unchanged; and Bóinn’s high cairn also, on its eminence above the valley, became, with time, an accepted and reassuring presence, a reminder of the magnificent self-belief that had enabled them to plan the masterpiece and bring it to triumphant reality, a reminder of that time of exuberant creativity based on a powerful direct certainty and a shining courage. It was the same courage and daring that had brought them to this green land of promise, braving the long sea-lanes and the anger of the storm. Built as a tribute to their benefactress and as a worthy tomb for their kings, Brú na Bóinne stood proudly also as a tribute to their own enterprise and resolve. It is a wonder and a mystery, older than the pyramids of Egypt, fitting monument to a great race of whom little is known, whose only building-tools were of stone or wood and the strength of their limbs. They are a people lost in the dim forgotten years; if they seem to speak still through the Boyne tombs and especially through Bóinn’s regal house, the whisper that comes over that vast emptiness says little more than, ‘See what we have built.’

The proud cairn guards its secrets, brooding over the bend of the Boyne. It has known great change, all the many changes that the turbulent centuries have brought, but still the tides fill and ebb in storm or calm and grasses grow, the river still sparkles in the sun and larks are singing above the peaceful fields. These things remain, and the kings asleep in the ground.