Page 27 of Boudicca

The burning city lit the night as we raced north. Once again I was framed between Cadoc and Abertha as our chariots sped forward.

We were covered in sweat and soot, blood and dirt. Our horses were the things of nightmares, gore-spattered and singed but

eager for more. We pounded up the Romans’ road. I had time to think how ironic it was that their carefully paved stones were

aiding us to bring death to them much quicker than if we’d had to traverse a dirt path at night.

Our chariots roared like wild beasts as we bore down on the two hundred Romans. When we reached them they had already formed

their phalanx—a rectangle of soldiers, shoulder to shoulder, interlocking their long, curved shields. They were like a turtle,

tucking up its head and legs. But, like a turtle, all one had to do to defeat it was to expose its underbelly and drive a

spear between shell and flesh.

Except for their officer, the centuria were on foot, and as we encircled them I saw how unprepared they were. They had no

long spears to hold steady within their turtle shell while they pierced the flesh of our brave horses. They stood their ground

with only shorter pilums and swords.

Cadoc ordered the archers to fire, which they did, round after round. The phalanx became smaller, tighter, after each volley

of arrows.

“Set them aflame,” I told Cadoc.

He called a second command and fire was added to the deadly arrow tips, and the phalanx finally broke. I shouted the undulating

Iceni war cry. Ennis and Finley galloped into the confusing mass of shields and men and fire.

I pointed at the officer, still astride his horse, fighting in the middle of the dying Romans. I recognized him as one of the men who had jeered at Briallen and dragged her away. “Take me to him.”

“Aye!” Maldwyn said through gritted teeth.

Our chariot plowed through them, its spiked wheels slicing men’s legs while our battle-trained horses used their teeth and

the terrible force of their bodies to clear our path.

I knew the moment the officer recognized me. His expression went slack with shock and then he turned his horse and spurred

it through his soldiers as he attempted to flee.

Beside me Maldwyn’s laughter was dark with savage joy as we gave chase. The officer reined his horse off the road, hurtling

into the darkness of the surrounding land. Maldwyn followed, and I thought for a moment we would lose him as he wove through

the trees at a run, but just as he was pulling away from us, his horse went down with a terrible shriek, its leg snapped by

a hole made by a hare.

I smiled, knowing Andraste’s hand was in this.

The Roman leaped free of the struggling horse, drew his sword, and faced us. I hurled my spear, driving it deeply into his

gut. The officer was lifted off his feet and thrown back by the force of the blow, landing with my spear pinning him to the

ground.

“Care for the horse,” I told Maldwyn. “While I put an end to him.”

Maldwyn pulled Ennis and Finley up beside the broken animal. I jumped out of the chariot and strode to the officer. He was

holding the end of the spear that protruded from his belly with both hands. Blood soaked the mossy ground around him, darkening

it to black. His face was white, though scarlet rivulets dripped from his mouth to stain his cheeks and neck.

I stood over him and felt nothing but satisfaction.

“What are you? A demon?” He coughed blood and gagged before he continued. “A dark goddess?”

“Neither. You may call me Victory.” I sliced through his neck with my sword, wiped my blade on the moss not tainted by his

blood, and turned my back on him.

Maldwyn ended the horse’s pain and then we returned to the battle. The phalanx had been completely destroyed by the time we reached it. Pockets of Romans still fought back to back, but they were swiftly being cut down. I lifted another spear, ready to rejoin the fight. To my right I heard a familiar voice scream, “NO!” A Roman had come at Abertha’s chariot from the rear. His spear had skewered Abertha’s driver, causing their team to bolt

from the road in panic when he’d fallen forward, onto their traces. The chariot tilted and fell on its side, throwing Abertha

to the ground with such force that she lost her sword and shield. The Roman ran toward her, his sword raised.

“Go!” I shouted to Maldwyn, but he had already cued our team. We raced toward Abertha.

The spear master got to her feet. She held one arm close to her side. The other she lifted defensively as the Roman came at

her.

I raised my spear and cursed. We were still too far away for me to throw true. Helplessly, I watched as the Roman struck.

Abertha pivoted and kicked at the back of his leg, knocking him off balance, so that his blade did not disembowel her but

sliced across her ribs, cutting through her leather tunic. She went down on one knee. The Roman whirled around, lifting his

sword for the killing blow. I shouted my fury and let loose the spear—and it pierced his ear, driving through his head so

that he fell in a gush of blood and gore.

I leaped from the chariot and ran to Abertha. She was struggling to sit. Her left arm was useless. It hung at a strange angle

limply from her shoulder. Blood oozed down her torso.

“You cannot die!” I shouted at her.

Her gaze found mine and she grinned. “Do not worry, my queen. I cannot be killed by one little Roman.” Then her eyes rolled

to show only white and she went limp, slumping against the ground.

Around us the battle was over. My warriors were wading their way through the piles of shields and men, using swords and spears

to make certain every one of them was dead. And suddenly Abertha’s words seemed funny and a little laugh bubbled from my lips.

Cadoc rushed up with Maldwyn. “Is she...?” asked the old soldier.

I realized my laughter was edged with hysteria, so I pressed my lips together and forced myself to breathe deeply. When I opened them again to speak I was relieved only words spilled out. “She lives. The wound is not mortal. I believe it’s pain from her shoulder that made her lose consciousness.”

Cadoc dropped to his knees to inspect her wounds. He grunted. “Dislocated. I can fix that, but then she needs to get to the

caravans so that cut can be washed and sewn. Hold her, Maldwyn.”

It only took a moment, but the sound of Abertha’s shoulder being forced back into place would stay with me a long time. She

regained consciousness shortly thereafter, cursing the Romans, the panicked horses, and even her lost shield and spear. Cadoc

helped her into his chariot. He led our warriors back while Maldwyn moved our team slowly through the centuria. I had him

halt in the middle of them.

“Through my blood and with my goddess-blessed breath, I have cursed you unto death!” My words spread around us, falling among the piles of newly dead—a promise fulfilled. “Now we can go to the caravans.”

“As you ask, so will I do,” said Maldwyn, and we rejoined our victorious warriors.

***

We gave the burning city a wide berth, circling around it. Camulodunum lit the night. Screams and cries echoed on the fire-heated

wind, riding the breath of it to us, though they faded as the fire continued to feed, devouring life as it consumed the city.

As we crossed to the first of the caravans, I saw Rhan. She stood alone as close to the burning city as she could get. I touched

Maldwyn’s arm. “Let me off here. I’ll join you at the healers’ tent.”

I walked to Rhan, who did not look at me as I approached. When I reached her side she still seemed not to see me. Her dark

eyes were fixed on the city. In them I watched the golden flames dance. Gently, I touched her arm. “Rhan?”

A shiver passed through her body and she drew a gasping breath, as if she’d only just then remembered she needed to breathe.

She turned her head to look at me. “You’re bleeding.”

I glanced down. I was filthy. I couldn’t tell what was blood or dirt or sweat. I didn’t think any of the blood was mine, and then the light of the blazing city made the liquid line on my arm glisten and I remembered. I touched the wound and flinched. It hadn’t hurt until then, but as feeling returned to my body, so too did pain. “Most of it isn’t mine,” I said. “And what is isn’t bad.” I looked up and met her gaze. “Why are you out here?”

“I can feel them.”

I was suddenly cold. “Them?”

She nodded and her gaze returned to the burning city. “The Roman shades. They speak to me.”

“What do they say?” I asked.

“Many of them are lost. That is why I am here.” Her eyes snapped back to mine. “You freed Brigantia?”

“Yes. And told Minerva to return to her own land—her own people.”

Rhan released a long sigh. “Good. I will guide the shades to her—to Minerva. That is why I must hold vigil here tonight. We

do not want the shades of Roman soldiers haunting our lands.”

I shivered, not exactly from fear but more from the eerie feeling it gave me to know the spirits of men I’d killed might be

hovering close by. “Would you like me to stay with you?”

“This is not something my queen nor my friend can help me with. This is a task a Druid must do alone.” She cocked her head

to the side in that birdlike way she had. “And you must rejoin the living while I deal with the dead.”

Her words confused me. Rejoin the living? I was alive. What could she mean? “But, I...” My words faded as her sharp gaze held mine, and I saw more than

I wanted to know within their depths.

“When you finally feel it, know that you will survive it. You will be changed, but you will survive.”

My gaze skittered away from hers. I did not want to think too much, nor feel too much. I wanted to be Victory for a little

while longer.

“Go, my queen, my friend. I have everything I need here, and soon you will have everything you need, too.” Before her gaze left mine I was sure I saw a deep sadness in her eyes. Then she faced the city and raised her arms, opening them wide as if to embrace the flames. Rhan was gone from me then. This was not my childhood friend. She was not even the Iceni seer. This Rhan was a Druid ovate, powerful, magickal, wondrous, and strange.

I turned and followed a far tamer light to our caravans.

***

There were five caravans at the edge of the tree line facing the burning city. Fires had been lit and litters holding wounded

warriors spread around the wagons, though far fewer of our people were injured than I’d expected. A large surgical tent had

been erected in the center of the stretchers and I ducked within.

“Mama! Mama!” My daughters rushed to me. For an instant I almost turned away, not wanting them to see me covered in battle

gore, but that was the response of a weakling and not a queen. So I hugged them tightly, ignoring the pain in my arm. Even

their wolves pressed against me, licking me and wriggling with happiness.

When the girls stepped back I saw that they, too, were blood spattered. Pride filled me. They had been tending the worst of

the wounded, as should the daughters of a warrior queen.

“Mama, you’re bleeding.” Ceri pointed at my arm.

Enfys squinted at the bloody line. “It doesn’t look too serious, though.”

“My queen!” Phaedra rushed up. Her overdress was as blood spattered as my daughters’ tunics. I was glad to see her. She had

aided my mother often in the preparation of tinctures and salves. She would be excellent help to our Druid healer, Adara.

“Come, I will dress that wound.”

I waved her away. “In a moment. Is Abertha here?”

Phaedra nodded toward the rear of the tent. “She’s there with Adara. Cadoc and Maldwyn carried her in, then they left to care

for the horses.”

I nodded. Of course the old shield and my horse master would be sure our swift, brave horses were tended, even before they cared for themselves. I turned back to my girls. “Enfys, Ceri, you have made me very proud today.”

“Did you kill the Roman soldiers who hurt us?” Enfys asked.

“I did,” I said.

“Every one?” Ceri asked.

I nodded. “Every one.”

The girls sighed out a long breath together, then Enfys added, “We still want to see them. We have to be sure.” Ceri nodded

in agreement with her sister.

“And you shall, but not tonight.”

“In the morning.”

Enfys did not frame it as a question, but I responded, “Yes. In the morning.” Then I glanced around the tent. “Where is Briallen?”

“There, Mama.” Enfys pointed to the far side of the tent, where I could see Briallen was bent over a stretcher. “With Eadric.”

“He is mortally wounded, Mama,” added Ceri, sounding much older than her ten years.

Sadness washed through me. Eadric was one of my original Queen’s Guard. He had served me since the day I married Prasutagus.

I touched my daughters’ cheeks and kissed their foreheads before I moved across the tent to join Briallen while my brilliant,

brave girls returned to tending our wounded.

Briallen knelt on the ground beside a stretcher. She held Eadric’s hand in both of hers. I crouched next to her and squeezed

her shoulder. From his waist down, Eadric’s body had been flattened. A blood-soaked cloth covered what was left of him.

“My queen.” Briallen’s voice was hoarse.

“I’m glad you are here with him,” I said. “I will wait with you.”

Then I was amazed that Eadric’s eyelids fluttered open. His gaze was bright and lucid and found me immediately.

“My queen!” He struggled to sit and I leaned forward and gently pressed his shoulders to the stretcher.

“Rest, Eadric. You must save your strength,” I said.

He smiled. “I know that I will soon be feasting at Andraste’s table. I go happily, eagerly, as my wife and chief are there before me.”

I swallowed back my tears and returned his smile. “Greet my husband for me and raise a mug to our victory today.”

“We did it? We fulfilled the curse?”

“Yes.”

He seemed to deflate then. Eadric coughed and blood-flecked spittle rained from his lips into his graying beard, yet still

he smiled. “It was a good battle.”

“Because of you and the rest of my guard we entered Camulodunum easily. Without you stopping the Romans from closing the gates

the battle would have raged for days.” I leaned forward and brushed the sweat-damp hair from his eyes and touched his cheek

gently, much as I’d just caressed my daughters, before I kissed his forehead. “Be at peace, mighty Iceni warrior.”

“It has been my greatest honor to serve you, my queen.” He paused to cough again and more blood spewed from his lips. “I—I

may sleep now.”

“Aye, well, you should,” said Briallen. “You’ll be needing all your strength for the feast to come. Tell my dunderheid brother

I’ve been missing him.”

Eadric’s gaze found Briallen’s. His scarlet lips lifted one last time. “We’ll raise a mug to you, too...”

Then he breathed out a long, rattling breath and died—his lips still lifted in a smile.

I closed Eadric’s eyes and smoothed his hair. “Thank you,” I whispered to him.

Briallen raised the cloth so that it covered his face and said a small prayer to Andraste before we stood.

“You’re bleeding,” she said.

“I have to check on Abertha, then I’ll let Phaedra clean it. Did we lose any more of my guard?”

Her back straightened and her chin lifted. “Not a one, my queen. And the centuria, are they truly all dead? Even Decianus?”

“Truly,” I assured her. “Decianus burned cowering inside the Temple of Claudius.”

“I thought so. I felt the weight of it lift and knew they must be dead,” Briallen said.

“It?” I asked.

“The knowledge that those who violated us and slaughtered our people were walking free, unpunished for their dread crimes.

We have been avenged. Arianell has been avenged. My brother has been avenged. Our elders have been avenged. ’Tis a great weight

lifted,” she said.

“Yes, it is. Next we march for Londinium, but not until we’ve burned our dead and I’ve taken the girls to witness the remains

of the centuria. I would like you and the rest of my guard to join me.”

Briallen bowed her head. “As you ask, so will I do.” She looked up and down my body. “With your permission I’ll be staying

here with your bairns till the wounded have been tended, then I’ll help them bathe and tuck them into their pallets. You’ll

need time for yourself tonight, my queen.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure what she meant. “You have my permission.” Then I headed to the rear of the tent, where Adara

had Abertha on a table and was bent over her. “How is she?”

“It’s nothing compared to childbirth, my queen,” said Abertha, though her face was colorless and her voice gravel.

“You haven’t had a child,” said the woman sitting on the other side of the table, clutching her hand.

I grinned at Dreda, another member of my guard, happy to see her there and unwounded. “She hasn’t given birth,” I said. “But

I do remember she stood guard the night Ceri was born.”

“Aye.” Abertha sucked in a breath as Adara pierced her skin with a slim bone needle and continued to sew closed the long laceration

that crossed her ribs. “I’ll never forget the sounds my queen made that night, and until I growl like a wild beast as she

did, I’ll know my pain isn’t that bad .” The last words she said were clipped and she closed her eyes tightly.

Dreda lifted a damp cloth and wiped the sweat from Abertha’s face. “Hush, love. Adara is almost finished.”

The Druid healer placed two more stitches and then straightened, rolling her shoulders. “Dreda, spread the healing salve on

the wound and bandage it. Give her plenty of the tea for pain and you’ll be able to move her to your tent for the night. She

can travel in another day, but only in one of the carts.”

Abertha scowled, but before she could protest I said, “My spear master will do as you say, Adara.”

“Good. Now, let me look at your wound.”

Before Adara could lead me away, Abertha spoke. “Thank you for my life, Queen Boudicca.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I hadn’t saved anyone’s life before. So I simply spoke the truth. “I’m glad I was there.”

“As am I,” said Dreda. Her eyes were filled with tears that fell down her cheeks as she bowed to me.

And then I had to stifle a painful gasp as Adara poked and prodded my wound.

“It does not need to be sewn,” the Druid said. “But must be cleaned thoroughly and bandaged. And you must be cleaned thoroughly

as well. We are almost finished here. Phaedra can go with you to your tent and be sure the wound is cleaned and dressed after

you’ve bathed.”

“I don’t want to take her from you,” I said.

“Then send her back when she is done. I can make use of her as we move the wounded to join the rest of the caravans deeper

within the forest.”

Adara was all business, completely focused on tending the wounded. I had a new understanding of such focus, and I nodded.

“That is what I will do. Thank you, Adara.”

She nodded briefly, called, “Phaedra, tend to the queen in her tent,” and turned to the next wounded soldier, who wore the

red of Tribe Trinovantes.

Phaedra hurried up to me. She carried a basket filled with strips of clean cloth, a jar of salve, and several bundles of herbs. I said goodbye to my girls, who were already helping Adara with the wounded Trinovantes tribesman. Their wolves lay out of the way but not far from them, their yellow gazes rarely leaving my daughters.

We left the tent, and the cool of the night made me shiver. The wind blew from the east, and the scent of smoke and burning

flesh almost made me gag. I was relieved when Phaedra led me to a line of fresh horses tethered behind the tent. We mounted

and rode silently into the forest, winding slowly around huge oaks and mossy boulders, heading deep into the dense woodlands.

I could feel my heartbeat returning to its normal rhythm, and as we reached the encampment the first wave of weariness washed

over me. My wounded arm ached. My other arm felt as if it had turned to stone. My mouth tasted terrible and was gritty, like

I’d eaten sand. I wanted to slouch down and let my head loll, but then I heard the first voice murmur, “Victory.”

I sat up straighter and passed a hand across my face. A flash of something to my right drew my attention and I turned my head

to see Andraste. The goddess rode Brigantia’s white stag. His snow-colored coat was covered with grime and blood—as was the

goddess. She carried a spear that was dark with blood, and a battered shield. Goddess and stag looked as if they’d been in

battle beside us, beside me. Andraste’s gaze met mine. Her face was spattered with blood but she smiled, her teeth flashing

in the eerie violet light of Annwn. “Well done, my Victory,” she said.

Like a loosened tide, the word crested around me as I moved through the camp.

“Victory.”

“There is our Victory.”

“Queen Boudicca—Victory.”

I was a chant my people spoke, or rather a prayer. I looked to my right again, but the goddess had vanished back into the

Otherworld. I met my people’s gazes, nodding, acknowledging, honoring their tribute, their loyalty, their love, knowing our

goddess was near and was receiving their praises, too.

My tent was set apart from the others. Rhan’s sigil had been planted in the ground before it and the skulls clattered softly in the breeze. The tent glowed with candlelight from within. Outside was a large cook fire over which two iron cauldrons bubbled. I was so relieved to see the Mother of Twenty that I almost threw my arms around the old woman.

“Queen Boudicca, my daughters will have your bath poured immediately. I’ve food for you waiting within.” She bowed quickly

to me and then began ordering her daughters around.

When I dismounted, I had to focus on not falling to the ground, as I discovered my legs were almost as stiff as my stonelike

throwing arm. Phaedra tossed one herbal bundle to Wulffaed, saying, “Brew this for our queen,” and then took my elbow and

guided me within my tent, where she went to a table that sat beside my bed pallet, poured a full mug of honey mead from a

waiting pitcher, and gave it to me.

I drank it all without taking a breath. As Phaedra took the mug and poured me another, I tried to pull off my tunic but staggered

and almost fell.

“One more. Drink it all, my queen.” Phaedra handed me the full mug.

Again, I drank it down. Phaedra began untying the leather guards from my forearms and shins. I was shivering, but I felt no

cold. She took off my clothes as Wulffaed’s daughters began coming and going, pouring steaming water into the copper tub that

they’d carried in my caravan from Tasceni.

“Phaedra, I don’t want to soak in this filth.” My gesture took in my body, including my hair, which was matted with grime

and blood and smelled of smoke and death and scorched flesh. “Get some buckets of water. I don’t care that they’re cold. I

want them poured over me.” My voice sounded normal, calm even, but my body would not stop shaking. I felt something building

within me—something dark and terrible. I had to get the blood and gore from my body soon.

“But, my queen, if you wait just a moment we can warm—”

“Now.” I interrupted her and, naked, strode from the tent.

Phaedra rushed after me. Wulffaed looked up as I emerged. She took in my nakedness and nodded. Before I could say anything she gestured at her four closest daughters. “Each of you fill a bucket of fresh water. Take them to the queen and pour the water over her.”

Moments later I was surrounded by women. One by one they gently poured icy water over me as Phaedra and I scrubbed my skin

and my hair. I looked down and saw the filthy, rust-colored water pooling at my feet. Then I tilted back my head and they

poured water over it, too.

Shivering now because of the cold, I hurried back into my tent and slowly lowered myself into the steaming tub. I was surprised

to feel the sting of the water on my new tattoos. I’d forgotten about the Ogham symbols of protection Rhan had marked me with

the night before. It seemed as if that had happened in another lifetime. Wordlessly, Wulffaed entered the tent and handed

me a mug that smelled strongly of herbs and honey. I nodded my thanks and sipped the hot liquid carefully as Phaedra sprinkled

more herbs into the water and knelt beside me, cleaning my wound. I closed my eyes against the pain and sipped the tea.

When my wound was clean, Phaedra replaced my empty tea mug with more mead before she went to work on my hair. She began unraveling

the raven feathers and eagle bones from the snarled braids and then soaped and rinsed it. Gently, she used a wide-toothed

wooden comb to detangle the mass of it. Her touch mixed with the tea and mead was a drug, and I allowed myself to relax. I

did not think. I felt only the strokes of the comb through my hair as I listened to the lullaby she hummed. When she had worked

through all of the snarls, she plaited it in one long, loose braid and helped me from the tub, drying me gently with a clean

cloth. She wrapped me in the cloth and I sat on my bed pallet as she smeared salve into my wound, dressed it in long strips

of cloth, and rubbed more of the salve into my fresh tattoos. Then she helped me into my soft nightdress.

“You may go now, Phaedra. Adara has need of you back at the healer tents.”

Phaedra gave me a doubtful look. “But, Queen Boudicca...”

I shook my head wearily. “There is no need for you to stay. I will eat, then I will sleep. Tell Wulffaed she and her daughters must join you. The wounded will all need to be moved to this camp tonight.”

Phaedra sighed but bowed to me. “As you ask, so will I do.”

Before she opened the tent flap and ducked out I said, “Thank you, Phaedra. You have helped me greatly this night.”

She looked back at me, and in the candlelight I could see the shine of unshed tears in her eyes. “I am honored to serve Victory.”

Then she was gone. I heard her relaying my command to Wulffaed, followed by the rustling of women departing. I moved slowly

to the table on which a plate of meat and cheese and bread waited. I poured more mead, ignoring the fact that my hand shook

so hard that I spilled much of it. Feeling centuries old, I sat and ate. I tasted nothing. I focused only on chewing and swallowing,

and as I ate, my body continued to awaken.

I hurt all over and I tried to keep my mind on the dull, toothache-like pain of my wound, the leaden weight of my spear arm,

the incredible weariness in my legs and back and shoulders. I finished eating and went to my bed pallet. I lay back and gave

in to the exhaustion that filled every particle of my body.

An odd feeling washed through me. It was as if my spirit was finding it difficult to remain attached to my body. I was dizzy.

I trembled. My breath came short and fast. I panted as if I were running through the woods. My stomach heaved and I swallowed

the saliva that filled my mouth, trying not to lose the food I’d just eaten. My chest felt tight.

That was when they returned to me. Each of the men I’d killed, beginning with the old soldier near the Balkerne gates. Their

eyes haunted me. Their last breaths rattled through my body. Their shrieks of pain filled my ears.

I didn’t realize that I sat—my arms wrapped tightly around myself as if I were trying to hold my disintegrating body together—that

I was sobbing openly, wrenchingly, until the flap of my tent opened and I looked up through tears to see Maldwyn.