Page 3 of Boudicca

“Yes, mighty Andraste, I do.” I was amazed that my voice was so steady but kept my head bowed and continued to clutch my numb

hands together.

The goddess used the spear to tap my shoulder gently, exactly where Briallen’s spear had so recently touched me. “Rise. I

am pleased that you answered my call.”

I stood as the goddess sat on an oaken throne, carved in the shape of an enormous boar. “I did not have a choice!” I blurted.

“Forgive me, goddess. I mean no disrespect.”

Andraste’s laughter made the willow boughs flutter. “You always have a choice, Boudicca, and you need not ask forgiveness

for speaking your mind to me. It is a good mind. A strong one, though sometimes rather stubborn, much like your husband.”

I lifted my head and met her gaze but could not speak at all.

The goddess’s expression softened. “Ah, you still mourn. You loved him well.”

I nodded and blinked hard, determined not to weep before the fierce patroness of Tribe Iceni.

“As did I—flaws and all.” Like the ravens filling the tree behind her, the goddess cocked her head and studied me. “I wonder,

will you repeat his mistakes?”

“Mistakes? Prasutagus was a great chief.”

“He was,” Andraste agreed. “But even great leaders make mistakes. Our Prasutagus made one when he chose not to heed my warnings. It is a mistake he will pay for in many lifetimes to come.”

Her harsh words made me feel dizzy with shock. “Mighty goddess, I do not understand.”

“You will. You, too, will have a choice to make. Just as you did today.”

“But you compelled me into the forest.”

Andraste reached out and a golden goblet appeared in her hand. The heady smell of honeyed mead filled the space between us.

The goddess drank deeply before replying.

“I did compel you, but you could have closed yourself to my call. Had you pulled your furs up around your ears and gone back

to sleep, your destiny would be a vastly different one, and so would your people’s present and future.” Andraste drank again

and then continued. “Or you could have answered my call but turned away from the crone.”

I shook my head. “No, I would not do that. It is not the way of the Iceni.”

“You might be surprised what people will do when they put their own desires first. I sent your husband omens, one and then

another. Still, he chose not to hear me and instead allied himself with the enemy and gave away half of his land.”

Another jolt of shock sliced me. The goddess spoke of the treaty Prasutagus had signed with Rome, making the distant emperor,

Nero, co-regent of the Iceni along with me should Prasutagus die before our eldest daughter knew eighteen years.

“But he did see your omens! The hare he loosed to show him the way ran in circles before it collapsed and died.”

Andraste nodded. “It did. And the raven?”

“It was killed by a golden eagle directly over my husband’s head after he invoked your name!”

“Indeed.”

I brushed back a lock of thick hair that had pulled free of my braid. “Prasutagus said the omens were clear. That is why he

gave his oath to Rome, making the emperor co-regent with me should he die early. Which is exactly what happened! ”

“Yes, Prasutagus’s heart was the weakest thing about him. But my omens did not foretell his death. And his question to me

had nothing to do with his mortality. His question was whether he should bow to Rome . Look at the omens again and tell me what you see, Queen Boudicca.”

The goddess went to the cauldron. She beckoned me to come closer. Beside Andraste, I gazed down into the cauldron, which was

completely empty. “Look with more than your eyes.” Andraste passed her spear over the cauldron. Immediately, it filled with

black water that began to spiral, like a mini-whirlpool. “Stare into the center of the maelstrom.”

I peered down... down... down into the liquid. I lost all sense of my body. The goddess, the stream, even the rabbits

and ravens disappeared as my spirit was transported to the rainy morning many months ago when the high Druid, Derwyn, had

blessed and then presided over the ritualistic loosing of a white hare—a creature sacred to Andraste. My spirit hovered above

the gathering as I looked down upon my powerful husband. He was so full of life that I wanted to weep, but I was there to

serve as witness to something the goddess wanted me to see.

Prasutagus took the small hare from Derwyn and whispered to it the question he had for his goddess Andraste, patroness of

the Iceni. Then, as the tribe looked on, Prasutagus released the hare.

I had been there, standing beside our young daughters on the grounds where Iceni warriors daily practiced their skills. I

remembered that I had been close enough to the hare that I’d heard its terrible last shriek and saw the blood that had gushed

from the little creature’s mouth after it collapsed. But as the goddess had commanded, I watched again, this time knowing

that my husband’s question had not been about his own death, but about whether or not the Iceni should sign the treaty with

Rome.

The hare had rushed from the Iceni chief’s hands. It did not sprint into the nearby forest, or even return to the hutch where

she and the rest of the sacred hares had been born and lovingly raised. The creature ran hysterically in one, two, three circles

around Prasutagus before dying.

From above the scene my gaze went to my husband. That day no one, including me, had been watching him. Even the Druid was focused on the strange sight of the dead hare. But the goddess had not sent my spirit there to study the doomed hare; I watched Prasutagus. His wide shoulders slumped and he sighed. But then he lifted his chin and shook his head, as if in disagreement with someone close by.

The scene changed abruptly and the whirling cauldron water took me forward in time a fortnight. This familiar day was clear.

I had joined Prasutagus and the other warriors on the practice grounds near the edge of the forest. I watched myself trade

blows with Bryn and Briallen, and had just knocked Bryn off his feet when the croaking of a raven drew everyone’s attention

upward. The huge black bird had perched in the top branch of the giant oak, the same tree I had greeted just that morning.

Prasutagus’s spear had been raised to throw at the straw target erected in the center of the grounds. The chief had paused,

and instead of hurling the weapon, he’d bowed deeply with a flourish and shouted.

“Goddess Andraste! May my actions always bring glory to your divine name!”

The warriors joined Prasutagus as he raised his spear to the sky and shrieked the fearsome Iceni war cry.

I remembered well what happened next, so, as with the previous vision, I did not turn my gaze up with the rest of the Iceni

when the raven took wing with the chief’s cry. I did not need to see the golden eagle that had seemed to materialize from

the cloudless sky. I did not watch it dive and strike the raven, killing it and then dropping it at my husband’s feet.

I observed Prasutagus instead. This time his shoulders did not slump, but his chin did lift again and his jaw set. I recognized

the look well. I’d seen it whenever anyone pressed the chief too far and stubborn defiance filled my husband. I’d seen it

when I’d spoken to him about my hesitation to ally with the Romans. I’d reminded him Cartimandua of the Brigantes had done

so and had since been shunned by the other tribes. He’d said he would give the issue to Andraste, which I thought he’d done.

Now I knew otherwise.

A few days after the two omens sent from Andraste, Prasutagus had signed the treaty with Rome.

I felt a dizzying wrench as I returned to my body and blinked away a rush of vertigo, trying desperately not to be ill.

“Drink.” The goddess held the goblet for me and I swallowed the rich mead. But the liquor didn’t fog my head—instead it steadied my resolve.

“Prasutagus lied about his question to you,” I said.

“Yes,” said the goddess.

“He did not heed your warnings.” The words slipped past my cold lips.

“He did not.”

“You did not mean for him to pledge his oath to Rome.”

“I did not.”

I met the goddess’s gaze. Her eyes were as black as the inside of a tomb. “Did you kill him because of that?”

“No. His heart stopped beating. That is what killed him.”

The relief I felt made my skin tingle. “Now what?”

“That is up to you, Queen Boudicca. Today the mistake your husband sowed when he pledged the Iceni to Rome will be harvested.”

Ice filled my veins and I staggered back a step. “I—I must leave! I must return home!”

“Must you? You have a choice to make that will shape your future as well as your tribe’s. Your destiny, my beloved Boudicca,

and your people’s are irrevocably woven together.”

My breath was coming fast and I could not hide the trembling in my limbs, though I fisted my hands. “I do not understand my

choice! I must return to Tasceni and warn them about Rome.”

Andraste’s eyes were filled with sadness. “I already warned their chief. Your husband did not heed me—just as he would not

have heeded you had I compelled you to come to me while he lived. It is too late. You cannot stop the consequence of his choice.

You must avoid it, survive it, or die with it.”

“How? Make sense!” I shouted at the goddess, and then pressed my trembling hands against my mouth, terrified I had finally

offended Andraste. But the goddess was unperturbed.

“You have three choices. Remain here, unharmed, with me, until I tell you it is safe for you to return to Tasceni. Leave now and join today’s grim harvest. Or decide to survive the harvest, grow stronger because of it, and use it to sow new seeds that will mature into a crop of vengeance like this land has never before known.”

I wanted to ask what the harvest was that I would need vengeance for, but I couldn’t form the words. I feared I already knew

the answer.

“Can’t I stop it? Won’t you help me?”

The goddess sighed heavily. “Your husband’s choice has been made. It cannot be unmade. And I am helping you. That is why you are here. But I will answer you truly, specifically—you may choose to remain here, in Annwn

with me. You will be safe. You will return to Tasceni tomorrow, after the Romans have gone. If you make that choice I cannot

see your path clearly, except that you will no longer be Iceni queen, though you will survive.”

“The Romans threaten my people. I will not remain here!” I almost spit the words.

“Ah, then you have two choices. You may choose to face the Romans and not submit to them.”

“I am an Iceni queen. I will not submit to Rome!” My body went hot as anger roiled through my veins.

Andraste remained serene. She nodded. “Yes, that would be momentarily fulfilling, though if you fail to submit, the Romans

will kill you.”

My mouth went so dry that I had to swallow several times before I spoke again. “I did not imagine that death in battle would

be mine, but it is an honorable death.”

“It is. And I shall welcome you to Annwn and my Summerlands if that is your choice. Though if you heed my words and let today

fuel your anger instead of your demise, a great blue tide of vengeance will sweep across your world and you will ride its

crest, leading the charge.”

“Me? But I am the wrong queen for that! I rule in peace and prosperity. I—I am not a warrior.”

The goddess grew in size. Her hair whipped around her as her cloak lifted like she was in the middle of a raging windstorm.

Her eyes flashed dark fire and her voice became terrible. “Not a warrior? I whispered your name to your father the night you

were born. Victory! I compelled you here to be my vengeance! Do you doubt my wisdom?”

I dropped to my knees, though I did not bow my head. I could not look away from the fierce beauty of Andraste. “Never!” I

pressed my fist over my heart. “Not even with my last breath will I doubt you.”

“Then make your choice!”

With three words I changed the course of the world. “I choose vengeance.”

The goddess did not alter her terrible war visage. She pointed her mighty spear at the cauldron and in a voice that shook

the trees around us said, “Then rise and take from the cauldron my gift, though you must not wear it yet. You will know the

time and the place. Listen with your heart and see with your mind.”

On unsteady legs I stood and went to the cauldron. The swirling water had disappeared to reveal a golden chief’s torque resting

against the iron bottom, where it glistened with an otherworldly light. I reached down and took the torque. It was thick,

twisted gold—open ended, as are all torques, so that it could be fitted around a chief or queen’s neck—and it was stamped

with charging boars completed by circled, golden tusks. I gasped with recognition and my gaze met the goddess’s.

“This is my husband’s torque.” I would eternally recognize the sign of my husband’s rank. I had never seen him without it.

He had even worn it when we entombed him in the Chief’s Barrow three months earlier.

“And now it is yours—a gift from the goddess of war to Victory. Keep it close until the time is right to reveal it to all.”

My hand was steady as I slipped the torque inside the satchel still slung over my shoulder.

Andraste raised her spear and brought the butt of it down, striking the ground thrice with such blows that the earth trembled.

Immediately the white hart returned, standing on the bank behind us. The goddess inclined her head slightly to him.

“Deliver my gratitude to my sister Brigantia for allowing me to borrow you today. To show my appreciation I return this offering to your goddess, whose beloved Arianell has treasured it for many years.” Around the hart’s neck the silver pendant appeared, with his likeness glinting against the moonlight white of his chest. Then she placed her hands on my face and cupped my cheeks as gently as a mother would her newborn.

“For the pain you will feel today, I am truly sorry. Know that I grieve with you and that with you I shall also blaze with

vengeance. Do not forget that I will be beside you every moment. You will be a queen of my forging, and the fire from which

you shall be birthed will be lit today. From this day forth I will hear your voice, my Victory—on that I give you my oath.”

Then the goddess kissed me gently, first on the forehead, then on both cheeks, and finally on my lips, exactly as my mother

had earlier that day, saying, “May the blessing of light be upon you. May the blessing of rain be upon you. May the blessings

of earth be upon you, and—someday in the not-too-distant future—may the joy of the day be with you again.” Andraste stepped

back and lifted her spear. She struck it against the earth thrice again and her voice rang in my ears. “Now, my Victory, run !”

The stag rushed past us and leaped across the stream. On the far bank he paused and gazed questioningly at me as he had before.

I turned to say goodbye to Andraste, but the goddess, the cauldron, the hares, the ravens, and the throne were all gone. All

that was left was the heaviness of the torque in my satchel and the despair that had already begun to live in my heart.

Run!

Andraste’s voice filled my mind and I did as my goddess commanded. I ran through the stream to join the stag. Together the

hart and I raced through the mauve-and-violet-tinted forest that was as silent as the barrow in which my husband’s body rested.