Tom was flattered to be associated with such an illustrious chieftain. It cheered him and he was in a confident mood when he arrived beside the gigantic copper cauldron which formed the focal point of the proceedings.
The vessel stood on bronze legs over a small fire. Little girls in white dresses were grouped around its rim, supervised by black-robed women with unkempt hair. A strong aroma of human sweat and garlic pervaded the air. It was something Tom had come to expect whenever the Sisters of Rebirth were present. He wondered if the ladies went out of their way to be repulsive.
The Great Horn sounded again and the girls of the royal guard appeared, escorting a gilded cart drawn by white oxen. The crowd parted and the girls advanced, shouting the many names of the Mother Goddess.
'Magdoor. Avu. Anu. Birgit ...'
The chant was taken up by the women in the crowd and the men shouted the names of the Good God.
'Chulainn. Samsen. Artur. Toro. Tomas ...'
Tom was shocked to hear his old name. He liked to think it was something he'd shrugged off when he changed realms but it wouldn't go away. It hung around like a blight from the past. Only the priests of the Duideth knew it when he arrived. Now the tribesmen were shouting it.
Their voices sent shivers down his spine. He was being associated with the hero god ... the god who had to die. The chanting stopped as the gilded cart came to a halt beside the cauldron. A veiled figure sat there, attended by little girls wearing garlands of holly.
'Praise to the Queen of the Corn.'
The girls of the royal guard bellowed.
'Praise to the Good God.'
A well-modulated voice sang back.
It was the sort of voice Tom associated with the more affluent classes of Cattish society. He turned, expecting to see a neatly dressed figure. Instead, he was confronted by a gaunt-faced woman with blackened teeth and long dirty nails. He recognised her as a senior member of the Sisterhood of Rebirth.
Silence followed. The little girls began to uncover the veiled figure. Tom did not doubt what he would see. Even before the arthritic knees had been revealed, he knew what would follow. The veil rose higher. The hem of the ridiculously short gown came into view then the girdle and plunging neckline. The Queen of the Catti sat statue-like in the middle of the cart.
She reminded Tom of a pantomime fairy. He had the impression that she had switched off. The old woman looked as if she was allowing her body to participate but nothing else. He wondered what she found so offensive. So far everything was rather tame. The stallion had given his blessing to the mare and had been duly killed. Then his body had been cut up and the pieces placed in the cauldron with a vast amount of oats and water.