Page 8 of Boudicca

Feeling centuries older than my thirty-three years, I returned to the well to draw fresh water. As I carried the bucket to

my bedchamber, Adara emerged from my mother’s room.

“How are they?” I asked the healer.

Before answering, Adara said, “Please show me where I can find a pot in which I can brew tea. I gave the girls the juice of

the poppy and they are sleeping soundly. The warrior refused it, so I would prepare her a strengthening tea instead.”

I showed the healer to the hidden alcove that held the cooking pots, cauldrons, and buckets, and the wooden cabinet that stored

dishware, then the healer began brewing a fragrant pot of tea.

“Your daughters are gravely wounded,” Adara said as she stared into the warming pot, adding sprinkles of herbs she drew from

the basket she’d carried into the lodge. “What those men did to them—” She shook her head in disgust. “Enfys’s injuries are

the worst. She may never bear children. But it is Ceri’s mind for which I am most worried.”

Adara’s words sickened me and I struggled to speak through the mixture of guilt, grief, and rage they invoked. “How can I

help them?”

“They need rest and they must feel safe. I will continue to give them sleeping potions over the next day, but they will eventually

have to rejoin the world. Your presence will help, as will Briallen’s. Give them time and encouragement. Surround them with

the women of the tribe. Petition Andraste to grant them courage. Be patient with them.”

It was so new, this world where my daughters were no longer laughing, playful children. A wave of loss washed through me.

Too overwhelmed to speak, I could only nod.

“Might I brew some tea for you as well?”

I cleared my throat and forced myself to speak, to think, to continue. “Yes, thank you, Adara. Though nothing that will make

me sleep.”

“You will share Briallen’s strengthening brew—as you also share her fierceness of spirit, Queen Boudicca.”

I sighed and whispered, “I do not feel very fierce right now.”

The Druid’s gaze was gentle with compassion. “The warrior rests within you. She will awaken when she is needed. Do not doubt

her. Your mother never did.”

Surprise warmed my face. “Truly? Mother never spoke to me of fierceness. When I was granted the torque three months ago, she

only talked of being compassionate and just.”

“A fierce queen can also show compassion and rule justly. Your mother knew that. Arianell was so proud of you. She said you

reminded her of Brigantia’s flame, and she loved you well for it.” With a caress that had me longing for my mother, the healer

stroked my cheek. “In these awful days our leaders must be fierce or our people will be completely wiped out by Rome.”

“I will do my best.”

“Of course you will. That is all anyone, even the gods, can ask of you.” Adara patted my arm.

“I must dress. My people will return soon.” I shook off crushing weariness. “Please bring the tea to my bedchamber.”

“I shall, Queen Boudicca.”

***

Slowly, I poured warm water from the cauldron into a bucket, then I went to my bedchamber. The first thing that caught my

eye as I entered was the neatly made-up pallet that belonged to my servant, Phaedra. Hastily, I scanned my memory for the

girl’s face among the dead.

“No, I did not see you,” I said aloud, and hoped that gentle Phaedra would not be added to that list as the Druids collected

the bodies.

I slid off the wide leather strap of the travel satchel that held the torque of Prasutagus. I did not take the golden symbol of leadership out of the bag but did run my hand across the rough leather to caress the outline of the thick torque.

It was still there—tangible proof that I had spent the day in Annwn and had received it as a sacred gift from Andraste. I

would reveal my husband’s torque when the time was right. I vowed then that until that time made itself known, I would keep

the torque close.

Carefully, painfully, I stripped off the simple linen tunic. It had adhered to my back, and as I pulled it from my wounds

they began to weep anew. Grimacing, I used a cloth to clean them as best I could before I dunked my hair in the bucket, washing

away blood and sweat and dirt. Then I dried the thick scarlet mass with a woolen blanket and went to my clothing chest. Placed

on the top of the clothes, neatly folded, was the dress Mother had embroidered for me as my Beltane gift.

My fingers trembled as they stroked the precious garment. Arianell must have put it in my chamber before the Romans attacked.

She had refused to let me see it, saying that it was a gift and meant to be a surprise, so I had not so much as glimpsed it

until that moment.

The fine linen gown had been dyed the lightest of blue, the color of the sky when frothy clouds obscured it. Arianell had

been a gifted artist. She had used thread that had been dyed a much darker blue—the blue of Iceni woad—to create a tree that

began at the hemline of the dress and grew up. I shook out the dress and studied it.

The tree was obviously the grandmother oak, which almost made me smile. I remembered how Mother used to worry when I was a girl and refused to stay out of the uppermost limbs of the mighty oak trees that surrounded Isurium, the royal village of Tribe Brigantes. As my mother’s expert stitches re-created those boughs, they turned into intricate knots and swirls that danced their way up the fabric to form Andraste’s raven, wings spread over the bodice. When the intricate pattern reached the shoulders, the embroidery shifted form again to become the heads of two mighty boars, each capping one of the shoulders. Their tusks met to create the rounded neckline. It was beyond beautiful. What my mother had created was a powerful dress for a warrior queen.

I shivered, remembering that my mother had been awake that morning, which seemed so very long ago, because she had been compelled

by her goddess to advise her daughter. I wondered what else Brigantia had compelled my mother to do.

I’d watched my mother stitch the girls’ Beltane dresses. They had been covered with flowers and delicate plants and playful

baby animals that reflected Enfys and Ceri’s sweet dispositions. My dress was completely different—completely what my people

needed to see their queen wear.

“Thank you, Mother.” I wiped tears from my eyes and attempted to put on the dress, but my newly exposed back would not allow

me to lace it up, so I smoothed the soft cloth carefully, leaving it unlaced.

Then I sat before the precious mirror my father had traded for and gifted me with when I’d returned from fostering with the

chief of the Trinovantes on my seventeenth birthday. As always, there was a wooden pot of woad paste on the table and a small

horsehair brush. I dipped the brush into the sticky paint and drew the symbol all tribes knew as distinctly Iceni across my

forehead—sickled moons with star points at each of their ends and small, rounded dots clustered in threes. The symbol evoked

Andraste’s moons, crescent and full, as well as the curve of the tusk of a boar. Then I lifted a wide-toothed wooden comb

and began to work my way through my matted hair.

The pelt curtain moved and Adara’s voice drifted through it. “Queen Boudicca, may I bring the tea to you?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The healer approached. She put the cup of fragrant tea on the table and studied me. “Might I help you dress?”

“Yes. My back... I tried, but I could not...” I breathed a long, frustrated sigh. “I do need help. Thank you.”

Adara said, “Just a moment, Queen Boudicca.”

She disappeared through the pelt curtain and returned quickly with a woven basket of healing supplies. First, she applied a salve that stung. I sucked in air at the sharp pain, but within moments my shoulders relaxed and I was filled with relief as the salve worked its herbal magick and my back went completely numb. Then the healer carefully wrapped clean strips of cloth around me and tied the bandages securely in place so that the deepest of the lacerations were covered. Finally, Adara laced up the dress, though not tightly.

The healer breathed a long, appreciative sigh as she studied the garment. “Oh, I would know your mother’s hand anywhere. This

is magnificent.”

My fingers reverently stroked the design. “It is perfect.”

Adara gestured at the comb in my hand. “Allow me. I have given the warrior her own tea and your daughters sleep soundly. Some

say I am rather skilled at the braiding of hair.”

“I would appreciate your help combing through it, but do not braid it. My mother used to call it my flame, and I would honor

Brigantia by allowing it to blaze.”

“As you ask, so will I do,” Adara murmured.

She sectioned off my thick mane and gently worked the comb through it. Neither of us spoke. I gratefully sipped the tea. Its

warmth and the magick of the healing herbs soothed me, and for the first time since that terrible dawn, I relaxed. Adara’s

ministrations brought to mind the grooming ritual the Iceni women loved so well. Once a week they gathered in the houses of

friends and family—and the lodge of their queen—and the women would bathe their hair in herb-scented water. Then, as they

shared food and drink and talk, they would brush out each other’s hair and create elaborate braids, woven with beads and feathers

and strips of ribbon and brightly dyed cloth.

I closed my eyes and could hear the musical laughter of content, joy-filled women echo from my memory. For a moment it comforted

me, but too soon grief spoke louder than the memory and I wondered if I would ever again feel the peace and comfort of simple

rituals surrounded by happy, prosperous people.

“Time. Give yourself time, Queen Boudicca.” Adara seemed to read my mind. “You are stronger than you know, and soon you will

prove that strength to everyone—including yourself.”

I studied Adara in the reflection of the mirror, noting her green robe, which showed that she was an ovate, a healer who was also often a seer.

“Did one of the gods give you a sign?” I asked.

Adara’s reflection smiled. “The gods speak to me through intuition, not signs.” The healer stepped back and her sharp gaze

swept over me. “Your people will be comforted by their strong queen. Go to them and you will find they comfort you in return.”

I stood and slid the leather strap of the satchel that held my husband’s torque over my head and shoulder so that it rested

securely against my right hip. “Thank you, Adara.”

The healer’s voice followed me from the lodge. “It is my great pleasure to serve the Iceni queen.”