Page 11 of Boudicca

The morning was completely clear, the sky so blue it seemed an ocean above us. No clouds. No fog. There was only the beauty

of a spring day that heralded the newness of life. It was an innocent day that knew nothing of funeral pyres and the tragedies

that swam just below its surface.

The Iceni spread around the practice grounds in a great, living circle. I paused on the path that led down to them, taking

in the sight of the mighty tribe and the people I loved so dearly. Purposefully, I was unescorted. My hair was thick and free.

The warm morning wind lifted it, revealing a restlessness I otherwise hid. I wore the dress my mother had created, embellished

with no jewels, no golden cuffs or ornate silver brooch. Over my shoulder rested the leather satchel that held a gift from

the goddess of war. From the woven leather belt at my waist peeked the iron hilt of a Roman pugio.

My back was stiff and sore, but a full night’s sleep and food had restored my strength. I walked with my chin lifted and held

my body straight and proud.

As I began the trek down to the field, Briallen was suddenly there, at my right. She wore the short woad-dyed tunic of my

Queen’s Guard, but today she had added leather greaves tied to her shins and vambraces to her forearms, and she’d painted

her battered face with Iceni symbols as if she were going into battle.

A few steps farther and Rhan joined me on my left. She was dressed in her finest—a moss-green dress and an embroidered green

cloak. Her face was painted with Ogham symbols that told everyone present she was a seer, trained on the isle of Ynys M?n,

and respected as an oracle of Annwn.

I did not speak to either woman but drew strength from their presence and support. Heads held high, we approached the tribe.

The circle parted before me as the people shifted to allow our entrance. Druids and the newly returned warriors made up the

heart of the circle. They packed the area in front of and around the massive mound that would be the funeral pyre. Derwyn

stood in the center with his gleaming alder staff, which ended in the sickle of the crescent moon, held in his left hand.

His snow-white robes were bright in the morning sunlight. To his right and left were the leaders of the Iceni warriors—the

men and women I must convince to support me should I wish to continue to reign as their queen.

I did wish it—very much.

Directly to Derwyn’s right stood a grizzled veteran named Cadoc, the man whom Prasutagus had chosen more than two decades

ago as his shield. That title made him his chief’s, then his queen’s, most trusted warrior and advisor. It also made him a

viable choice to become chief himself should the people fail to support me.

Cadoc towered above Derwyn. His thick, silver-gray mustache framed his lips, dropped below his chin line, and was braided

with his long hair, which had turned completely white years ago but was still as thick and vibrant as the aged warrior’s scarred

body. That oak-strong body was covered with a bold knot work of tattoos that encircled his massive biceps and forearms. On

his knees were the faces of twin boars—their huge tusks wrapped up his thick thighs.

Beside Cadoc was a leanly muscled woman, the ends of whose blond hair, shorn short, were woad colored and arranged in spikes.

Her forehead bore our inked tribal symbol of crescent moons back to back, star points, and clusters of triple full moons.

Abertha had been the spear master of the Iceni for almost a decade. She was the warrior responsible for my ability to hurl

a spear accurately, as well as protect myself with a short sword in close combat.

To Derwyn’s left was the youngest of the Iceni lead warriors, Maldwyn the horse master, whom I had elevated to the position just weeks ago. He was even taller than Cadoc, though his body was lithe and graceful instead of thick like the much older shield. His hair was wavy and rested on his shoulders. He, like all of our cavalry and charioteers, used a lime paste to bleach his hair shocking white, which contrasted brilliantly with the intricately tattooed images of rearing horses that decorated his broad shoulders and neck. His cornflower-blue eyes were rimmed in red, and he unashamedly let tears flow down his cheeks.

I wished with all my heart that they had been at my side the day before, as I could not imagine even a centuria of Rome cutting

them down.

I felt more than heard Rhan’s sharp intake of startled breath. I glanced at my friend and followed her gaze around the circle

to see a small group of warriors clustered together who wore the distinctive red cloaks of Trinovantes royalty. I instantly

recognized Rhan’s father, Addedomaros, chief of our longtime allies.

Good. I stilled my nerves by reasoning. With Addedomaros here it will save me the need to spread the word that I remain queen of the Iceni. Because I shall continue

to rule. I must continue to rule. I have a curse to fulfill.

I spoke directly to the grizzled shield of the Iceni.

“Cadoc, I greet you with great sadness, though I am pleased to have our warriors home again.”

Cadoc inclined his head slightly, showing respect to me as queen but not the deference my warrior husband would have commanded

from him. “Boudicca, our hearts broke when the Druid came to us with such tragic news. Our queen’s mother is dead. And so

many of our grandmothers and grandfathers have joined her that our tears could coax the Tas from her bank and change the course

of that mighty river. We are heartened to find you alive and unharmed. Derwyn has greeted us, but he has not explained to

us how this horror came to be.”

I faced his underlying question without flinching. Let me get this over with and still the wagging tongues before they can ruin me and our people.

“How this horror came to be I cannot answer, though I may know one who can. I can answer the question you leave unasked, which is how I am alive when so many of our elders died and my daughters were brutalized so badly that they cannot leave their mother’s lodge.” Restless murmurs rustled through the tribe. I continued speaking while my gaze traveled around the tribe, lighting on familiar faces with a confidence and ease the Iceni would later boast of—how their mighty queen was a master at holding an audience rapt. “The goddess Andraste compelled me to enter Annwn yesterday at dawn. She appeared to me before the Romans invaded our village. She gave me a choice. Die fighting the Romans with my mother and our elders, or live and correct the grave mistake made by Prasutagus.”

The murmurs around me grew to angry words so numerous that they were like the tall stalks of wheat in the surrounding field

rustling in a great wind.

Derwyn’s staff rang against the hardened ground, silencing the tribe. “Your queen speaks! She will be heard before you judge

her.”

I fisted my hands at my sides. My fingernails dug into my palms, drawing blood. But I did not flinch, nor did I waver.

“I was given the same choice my husband had been given before he signed away our freedom to the Romans—listen to the goddess

or to my own ego. I chose to listen to Andraste. He did not.”

Cadoc’s eyes narrowed on me. “You insult your husband, our chief?”

“Never. I will never insult my husband, our chief, whom I loved well. But I will not hide the truth Andraste showed me.” My

gaze held Cadoc’s. “Derwyn, tell them.”

The high Druid stepped forward. “Iceni, you wonder why I have been absent these many months, before and after the death of your chief? The reason is simple. I interpreted the omen Andraste sent when Prasutagus asked whether he should sign the treaty with Rome. The goddess’s answer was clear. The hare died suddenly, here, on the spot where months later your queen was flogged almost unto death by the procurator.” Derwyn’s gaze met Cadoc’s. “You misspoke, Iceni shield. Your queen is not unharmed. Her back was flayed to the bone.” Then his gaze continued around the circle. “Boudicca speaks truth. Your chief did not heed Andraste’s omen, though I spoke her response to his question honestly and truly.”

Shocked whispers passed through the tribe. At my lifted hand, they went silent.

“I witnessed the goddess’s second warning sign,” I told them, “the day it happened and again yesterday, in the cauldron of

Andraste. You witnessed it too, Cadoc. Our goddess’s raven was killed by a golden eagle and dropped at my husband’s feet.

It happened here—almost exactly where a man who carried the talisman of an eagle on his golden armor bound me to a stake.

“But, once again, Prasutagus ignored the sign. He refused to listen to the goddess. Yesterday I chose to listen and to follow

Andraste, our goddess of war, until every Roman is washed from our land in a river of their own blood.”

The people remained silent. I saw Cadoc’s internal struggle on his well-lined face. He had loved Prasutagus dearly. I understood

how difficult the truth was for him to process; it had been difficult for me as well. But I also knew that Cadoc was a wise

warrior. He could be reasoned with, should I gain his support.

“I hear you, Queen Boudicca,” said Cadoc. “I look at the signs sent by Andraste with new eyes. I hated the Romans before today.

Now my loathing takes on a new life. Our queen mother is dead. My beloved mother is dead. I have seen her old, frail body,

impaled by a Roman pilum. I want vengeance with my every breath. But you have only ruled for three full cycles of the moon,

and you have never led warriors into battle.”

Derwyn spoke up. “When did the Iceni begin measuring courage strictly by experience on the battlefield?”

Cadoc shrugged. “Derwyn, I do not question Boudicca’s courage. It is her experience, or lack thereof, that gives me cause to question her.” The warrior turned back to me and continued. “In normal times, when we are at peace, I would gladly continue to bend my knee to you. But what happened yesterday changed that. The days have turned red as the river you boast about drowning the Romans in. Tell me, Boudicca, how a queen who is not a warrior survives such a flood—especially a queen who seems to have misplaced her torque.”

My face blazed with heat and I had to force myself not to reach up to touch the empty place around my neck.

“The symbol of my leadership is missing because a cowardly Roman stole it from me while I was bound and beaten. But in answer

to the rest of your insolent question, I will repeat to you— to all of you ,” I shouted, “the words I cursed the Romans with—the words I know Andraste heard because I chose to follow her will and not

my own.”

As I repeated the curse, a wind swept through the field. It swirled around me, lifting my fire-colored hair as if I rode a

war chariot against our enemies. It amplified my voice and carried it to each tribe member as if I spoke to him or her individually.

When I finished I waited a moment, and then, as the echo faded, I repeated, “ Through my blood and with my goddess-blessed breath, I have cursed you unto death! I will not rest until every Roman who was here yesterday—every one who slaughtered our elders, violated my daughters, and

flogged your queen—has been sent to their underworld for judgment.” I strode forward. Briallen and Rhan moved with me as if

we three were one, until I stood directly before Cadoc. “Andraste set me on this path. She did not speak of my inexperience.

Instead the goddess reminded me that she named me Victory! Do you claim to be wiser than a goddess?”

The field was hushed. Even the wind had gone still.

Cadoc ignored my question and repeated stubbornly, “I would follow you in peace, but you have never been in a battle. Never

led a tribe into war.”

I turned my back to Cadoc. Before he could respond, I commanded. “Gar! Bring forth your captive!”

Gar pushed his way forward, his hand gripping the arm of a man whose wrists were tied behind him. Over dirty leather pants the hostage wore a tunic that was the brown of the fens. Its only embellishment was a design painted with the black dye of walnuts that formed moons and hidden faces—the unmistakable symbols of the Catuvellauni tribe, a tribe that had exchanged their freedom to ally with Rome.

I heard the mutters of the tribe as they, too, recognized the symbols on the man’s tunic.

Derwyn moved to stand at my side. As leader of the Druids, it was his responsibility to dispense tribal justice.

“Gar, how did you come to capture this man?” Derwyn asked his Druid.

“You bid me search the fen for someone who did not belong there. Queen Boudicca asked that I search with stealth because the

person I sought must be surprised were he to be captured.” Gar jerked his chin in the direction of the captive at his side.

“The queen’s words were wise. I knew by his tunic this Catuvellauni did not belong so close to the heart of the Iceni people.

Had I not come upon him secretly, he would have escaped into the river, as he surely tried to escape me several times on the

way here.”

I met the silent captive’s gaze. He was an older man, probably one who had seen at least forty years. His long hair was a

unique shade of bright blond that shined gold. His face was pale and a spot of red burned over each of his cheeks.

“My mother is dead,” I said to the captive without preamble. “My daughters were raped. Our elders were killed by a Roman centuria

that surprised us by stealing into our village from the fen with a fog so thick it hid them perfectly.”

Derwyn cocked his head, studying the captive. “How did the Romans, weighted down by armor and weapons, without any knowledge

of Iceni lands, find their way through the fen? Why did the sinking sands and sucking mud not swallow them? Why would they

even attempt such a thing unless they had a guide to lead them—a guide who knew the Iceni warriors would be at the spring

games? Explain that.”

The tribesman remained silent as he stared at a place behind Derwyn.

“I know this man.” Cadoc moved closer, peering at the captive. “Hefeydd, it is you!”

The captive reluctantly met the old warrior’s gaze. “I see you, Cadoc.”

“Shield of the Iceni, how do you know this man?” Derwyn asked.

“Several of us know him, though he was a youth when last we saw him. I only recognize him from the color of his hair and the

symbols on his tunic. Hefeydd was the last of the Catuvellauni royalty to foster with us before they whored themselves out

to Rome. He is Chief Togodumnus’s nephew. Prasutagus treated him like a son for the years he spent with us.”

Derwyn’s voice was filled with disappointment. “You played in the fen as a youth. That is how you were able to guide the Romans

through it. And you knew the Iceni warriors would be visiting the Trinovantes just before Beltane, because that is their tradition.”

Around them the Iceni moved restlessly, like warhorses aching to charge the enemy.

My anger burned hotter. I moved closer to Hefeydd, forcing Cadoc to step aside. I was taller than the Catuvellauni tribesman

and looked down my long nose in disgust as I spoke. “So you repaid my husband’s kindness by leading Romans to his door.”

“Prasutagus died three months ago,” Hefeydd said. He looked around me at the high Druid. “Derwyn, I ask that you ransom me

to Togodumnus. My uncle will pay to see me safely returned to him.”

Derwyn surprised everyone by ignoring Hefeydd and speaking to me instead. “This man repaid your husband’s hospitality with

betrayal. Your back will, for the rest of your life, bear the scars of Rome. It was your daughters who were brutalized, your

mother killed, and your elders slaughtered because this man led the Romans through the fen when he knew your warriors would

not be here to protect the tribe; therefore, I grant the judgment of Hefeydd, nephew to Togodumnus, chief of the Catuvellauni,

to you, Boudicca, queen of the Iceni.”

I watched Hefeydd’s eyes widen in shock and his face lose all color. But he stood straight and met my gaze.

“Boudicca, I say again—ransom me to my uncle. Catuvellauni will pay the Iceni richly,” pleaded Hefeydd.

“Ransom you? As if you were caught stealing cattle? No, Hefeydd. You will not be ransomed.” I appeared to turn away from him. Then, with the speed of a well-trained Iceni warrior, I pulled the Roman dagger

from my belt and whirled around, slicing through the traitor’s neck. “My judgment is death!”

“Judgment has been meted out!” Derwyn cried, spreading his arms ceremoniously.

Hefeydd gurgled in shock. His blood sprayed strong and thick for one, two, three heartbeats before he fell to his knees and

then collapsed.

The Iceni went completely still.

The moment the blood began to pump from his death wound, the full realization of what I had done hit me. My strike had been

graceful, lethal, swift, and accurate—everything the master warriors had drilled me to be for the fifteen years I had been

married to their chief.

But I hadn’t practiced the emotions that came with taking a life—watching a man’s eyes go dim as his blood soaked the ground.

Killing a man was not like slicing into a straw target. Killing a man, even one who richly deserved it, was a terrible, dark

thing that I felt settle heavy and sick in the depths of my spirit.

A wave of nausea crashed over me. My hands and feet went cold. I swayed and might have stumbled, even fallen, but a firm hand

took my elbow and lent me strength.

“Courage. You did the right thing,” Rhan whispered. Then she swept her arm dramatically up to point at Derwyn, and in a voice

filled with power, she cried, “Behold, Tribe Iceni! Andraste has given sign!”

Silently the tribe stared at the high Druid, whose white robes were spattered with Catuvellauni blood spray—which clearly

formed the outline of a scarlet raven in flight.

Derwyn took several strides to stand in the center of the raptly watching tribe. He turned slowly as he held out his arms, giving the Iceni plain view of the bloody omen sent from our patron goddess as he announced, “Andraste approves of Boudicca’s judgment!” When he had come full circle he stopped, facing me. “But this is not the only sign the goddess has sent to show she has blessed your leadership, is it, Queen Boudicca?”

My heart hammered so hard that in the eerie silence of the waiting tribe I thought they should all be able to hear it. Still,

I strode to stand beside Derwyn to address my people.

“I already told you I spent much of yesterday in Annwn, in the presence of Andraste. The goddess gave me knowledge of the

past, revealing my husband’s terrible mistake, as well as asking me to choose to either survive the Roman attack or join my

people in the tragedy. When I let Andraste and not my ego guide me, the goddess showed her approval by giving me a gift.”

It was time.

I reached into the satchel and grasped the thick gold torque that had been my husband’s sign of leadership, buried with him

three months earlier. I raised the torque above my head so that it caught the morning light and glittered as if it had been

lit from within.

“Behold, the torque of Prasutagus!” Derwyn shouted.

The Iceni gasped. Echoed whispers of “ ’Tis the chief’s torque! ” rustled through the tribe.

Rhan lifted her arms. “Now, who among you will tell the chosen of Andraste that she is not fierce enough to lead?”

I looked only at Cadoc as the shield of the Iceni approached. He stopped in front of me and then dropped to one knee and bowed,

deeply and respectfully.

“I give you my pledge to follow you into battle, Queen Boudicca,” he said.

Briallen was next. She quickly took one knee and bowed to me. Tears washed freely down her face and with a voice filled with

strength she said, “My pledge is yours, my queen!”

Each of the leaders of the warriors followed her and then, like ripples from a stone thrown into a still pool, the Iceni knelt

in waves around me, and as they knelt I finally put the heavy golden torque around my neck and bent it into place.

The Druids did not kneel—they knelt only to the gods and goddesses—but Derwyn, Rhan, and the others bowed deeply to me. Even the Trinovantes royalty and their warriors bowed, acknowledging the queen of the Iceni.

“Hail our warrior queen Boudicca!” Cadoc shouted as he stood, and then he stomped his leather-clad foot against the packed

ground of the practice field as he began the chant: “Bou-dic-ca! Bou-dic-ca!”

The Iceni took up the chant, stomping against the ground until Tasceni reverberated with my name.

Amidst the tribe’s shouts of acceptance, Briallen approached me and bowed deeply. “My queen, should I tie the body of the

Catuvellauni traitor to a horse and return him to his uncle?”

I forced myself to look at the man I had killed where he lay in the middle of a wide pool of scarlet. I swallowed back the

bile that rose in my throat and studied him with a queen’s gaze, considering my options as I bent and wiped the bloody dagger

on the ground before sliding it back into my leather belt. I straightened and shook my head. “No. Let his body be the first

of the traitors we offer to Andraste. Sink him into the mud of the fen. Pour libations of ale and honey over him to make him

more palatable to our goddess. Togodumnus will not know that we have found him out. But we have been warned of the depth of

Catuvellauni treachery.” I paused and looked at the tall warrior who stood not far from me. “Unless the shield of the Iceni

has a wiser, more experienced idea.”

Cadoc smiled at me then. “I do not, my queen. I am in agreement with your wisdom. I, too, would have slit his throat and offered

his blood to Andraste with my own hand had Derwyn granted me judgment. You are correct. The Catuvellauni chief knew of this

plot. Had he not, Hefeydd would not have been so eager to be ransomed. It is good that now we know of their treachery.”

“Briallen, have two warriors bring libations to the goddess with you and sink the traitor in the fen.”

“As you ask, so will I do, Queen Boudicca.”

Cadoc nodded. “And what is your command for me, my queen?”

“Help the Druids finish preparing the funeral pyre. We will care for our dead. And then you and I will prepare to serve vengeance

to the living.”