Category: historical fiction

Alba walked beside Gyr as they crossed the field headed towards the sacred stone. Her grandmother talked about a goddess and a god who appeared at the stone thirty springs ago. Alba wondered if she would get to see a god and goddess like her grandmother. She wanted to have blessings for fertility and have many children with Gyr.

They had walked for two days from their tiny village to the east along the River Ugie, not far from the endless cold sea off the coast. Gyr carried a wicker basket on his back with a small collection of trade goods. Alba’s basket held foodstuffs which they would eat on the way back to their village. They had been fasting for three days and wouldn’t eat until the sacred ceremony was conclude. Alba had been born fifteen springs earlier, the fifth daughter and seventh child of her parents. Gyr was one summer older than her.

“Alba, the villagers told us we should reach the sacred stone not long before the sun is highest. It can’t that much further.”

“You’re right, Gyr. The path through the grass is well trodden and offers faster passage than when we walked at the edges of the bogs.”

“The villagers said that others all ahead of us on the trail. We won’t be alone. A seer will be there to guide us,” Alba added. “I hope the shells will gain the goddess’s favour.”

“My flint knife will undoubtedly earn approval.”

Gyr had learned quickly the trade of his father who crafted tools for his home villagers.

They became aware of the sacred stone as they saw couples standing near what could only be the sacred stone. Gyr and Alba hurried their steps not wanting to miss the sacred invocation.

Sitting near the stone, an old woman was preparing an infusion. Alba recognized the mugwort which was being brewed. There was a woman in her village who brewed a herbal infusion for medicinal use, as well as for the Seer’s use at holy festivals. A white-bearded old man stood behind her as though waiting for the potion to be ready. There was no doubt in Alba’s mind that he was the seer who would call upon the immortals. Alba nudged Gyr and nodded toward the old man before whispering, “He is waiting. We aren’t late my husband-to-be.

Gyr nodded without adding any words. The two had spoken quietly along their journey about keeping their purpose unexplained. The priest in the village was brutal in his attempts to stamp out paganism.

Moments before the sun rose to its highest position, another couple arrived. The seer moved to stand beside the stone while the old woman went from couple to couple to have them drink the infusion using their own wooden cups. When all had swallowed the brew, they sat in a semi-circle in front of the seer.

They waited for what seemed unending time though the sun’s position told anyone watching that it wasn’t long after midday when the seer began to speak.

~

Alba didn’t hear the words as she sat, she felt them reach into her centre. Her eyes caught the shimmering of light as two figures emerged. The goddess with long golden tresses, and a god with a glowing mane of hair that included a long beard.  The goddess smiled

~

The sun had set behind the hills to the west when Gyr woke. He saw Alba, folded onto the grass, still sleeping. He looked around. The sacred stone stood where he had seen it at midday. However, the old woman and the seer were no longer by the stone. All that remained were the scattered couples still sleeping.

I am finally getting serious about a historical fiction that looks at how my family came to be in this modern world. The earliest known Longpré was mentioned in an obscure work where a Guillaume Longpré was supposedly in a minor supporting role at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. Of course, the family didn’t begin then. He had parents, grandparents and the roots go far, far back in time. For this story, I am starting in the middle of the seventh century.

I had my DNA analysed and found out that the roots, my roots, are tied to Northern France, Scotland, and the Norse peoples that we know as Vikings. There are others in the DNA mix, but they are not as prominent. It was this knowledge that had me begin in Scotland. I am writing the story in Parts. The prologue sets the scene in what is today called Aberdeenshire, the homeland of the Picts, a mysterious people with Celtic associations. The Picts didn’t disappear, they became absorbed over the years.

The Longpré name comes from what we know as Longpré-les-Corps-Saints. Before 1205 AD, the place had the name Longpré. And before that it was called Longum Pratum in 1066 AD. All of that is in written historical documents. The neighbouring town of Long was called Longus Superior in 855 AD, then Longo, and then Longum. That is what history tells us about these two villages which are less than five kilometres apart. Both places existed long before written records mention them. It is most likely that the village of Long was the first town and that its own people build habitations in the meadows which gave rise to “long-meadows” or Longpré.

The Romans mentioned villages in the area and there is archaeological evidence of villages dating from the time of Caesar being there in 57 BC. The people living in the area were Celtic and called Ambiani. And so it goes on and on backwards in time. There is no way I am going to track all of this as it would be an impossible task. What leads me to begin in Scotland in the middle of the 600s is what I can best call a woad culture, a warrior culture which is matched by a woad culture in Denmark and in France along the river where the villages of Long and Longpré are found.

The story which will emerge here is one that tells the plausible story of a land that eventually gave rise to the Longpré family. Though the story will have real historical figures, the novel isn’t about them. In the end, it is the story of a family that passes through me to my grandsons, a thread that adapts to the passing centuries, blending other families in the process.

Should I have started the story in the late 1600s when the family arrived in North America from Rouen, France? I thought long and hard about this. My friend, Yann Longpré has written an encyclopaedic two-volume series which is replete with family trees dating back to the Guillaume Longpré’s arrival. That isn’t a story and I want to write a story.