Page 106 of Boudicca

“Aye!” Cadoc and Maldwyn joined him.

They made me proud, these warriors. I knew each of them was prepared to die beside me. I only hoped that wouldn’t be necessary.

Chapter XXXIV

The snow began two days after the last caravan entered the valley. It fell with a steadiness that proclaimed winter had arrived in the mountains and would not be departing until spring—so we settled in for the long, dark months ahead of us.

I was used to wintering deep in the Thetford forest, where we would get snow, but it was nothing like the steady stream of white that fell from the low, gray sky that engulfed the Eryri Mountains. I was glad we were shielded from the worst of the storms so that, snug in our valley, I was able to appreciate the stark beauty of the snow. It had a muffling effect I’d never before experienced. Mornings when I rose with the sun, I was awed by the quiet and the way dawn’s light touched the newly fallen snow, turning it to faceted jewels.

The army got to work immediately. The blacksmiths and farmers collaborated on how to adapt plow designs to the snow so that not only were we able to keep a slim trail cleared from our valley out to the peat bogs, but we were able to maintain winding paths through our huge camp and create a large training field where our warriors practiced daily. As Cadoc often said, it would not do for our army to emerge fat and lazy from a winter of inaction. I agreed with him, but more because I knew bored warriors would become troublesome rather than because I worried that they would be too portly to face down the Romans.

In a combined effort to combat boredom and fatigue, Addedomaros, Comux, Leofric, and I joined our warriors in their training. It was nostalgic for me. I’d thrived the spring and summer before as I trained for war, and it felt good to continue building muscle and balance and skill. Within a fortnight the huge camp had settled into habits that helped us thrive.

We trained during the middle of the day, taking advantage of the slim hours of light. It mattered not at all whether the sky was clear and brilliant cerulean or slate-colored and pregnant with snow. As the wan sun sank into the mountains that protected our valley, we cared for our precious herds until it was time for dinner and the telling of tales that followed—a tradition Rhan had started when she’d asked me to share with the large group I’d chosen to eat with the story of Andraste riding beside me after the battle of Camulodunum. I’d only been partway into the tale when I noticed the crowd around the campfire had doubled. Bright eyes glistened in the firelight as they watched me recount how Andraste had ridden Brigantia’s white stag, escorting me from the burning city to our camp. They’d cheered as I finished the telling, and Rhan had whispered, “Stories are precious to your people. They will collect them and hold them close during this long winter, and in the spring will repeat them proudly as we emerge and face the Romans once again.”

After that night it became tradition for the chiefs and lead warriors to move from hearthfire to hearthfire, sharing tales and listening to others tell them as we encouraged our people to remember why we had become an army—so that Rome could not dilute our beliefs, our pride, our very spirits.

The long winter nights allowed time for love. I watched my people with knowing smiles as passion warmed their beds. Maldwyn proved to be an unexpected joy. I’d wondered about what might happen between us as the valley closed and the cold months stretched before us. I would never marry again. Not because I wasn’t interested in loving, but rather because I had no interest in dividing my rule. I had been queen for almost one full year. I’d gained my people’s trust and loyalty. I was more than simply comfortable being queen of the Iceni; I ruled wisely. I’d established a council that was rich with experience and wisdom. My people knew that even though I depended upon the advice of that council, ultimately the decisions made for them were mine. If I married, it would instantly bring into question who was ruling the Iceni.

I would listen to my council. I would consult Andraste. But I would not bow my will to any man’s.

Though Maldwyn and I did not speak of it, by his actions it was clear he understood. Above all else, I was his queen. He deferred to me, not with subservience but with respect. He was always eager to come to my bed, or welcome me to his, though he never instigated our nights together. We shared long, intimate looks and smiles, and were of one mind as we trained together in our chariot, but Maldwyn never attempted to use our intimacy to advance his own desires. If the herd needed something, he brought that need to me during our council meetings. The only words we whispered to one another in the dark of night were those of passion. I felt safe with him.

I did not hide the fact that he and I were lovers. The Iceni and the other tribes had no foolish taboos about desire. We loved freely, easily, and openly. When Maldwyn and I walked to the training grounds together, I often saw my people smile knowingly at us. Passion was nothing more than another aspect of our lives. Chiefs and queens who did not display their passions were often looked upon as lacking. While I have never been one to flaunt my desires publicly, there was less privacy in our valley than in Tasceni, and my people were well aware that their queen did not lack passion.

As the nights lengthened and the days became short and frigid, I thought of my mother often, especially when I watched Wulffaed in the candlelight guiding my daughters as they practiced their needlework. The Mother of Twenty and her brood of daughters and granddaughters filled my makeshift lodge with the happy sounds of women’s laughter, evoking memories of other long winters when my mother reigned over the matriarchs of our tribe. Our lodge had always been a meeting place for women to talk and share ideas, trade goods and support each other. For the first time since Arianell’s death, I felt feminine comradeship and support again and realized how desperately I’d missed it.

“Wulffaed!” I called as I sat straighter and pulled my thoughts from the past.

“My queen?”

“I wish to reclaim one of my mother’s favorite traditions and would like your help in doing so.” My daughters turned their bright, eager gazes to me, and I smiled.

“Of course, Queen Boudicca. How may I help?”

I noticed Rhan and Briallen had also paused in what they were doing to watch me. “Spread word that the matriarchs of each tribe will gather there”—I jerked my chin toward the dark body of water outside the cave—“at the bank of the lake tomorrow before I go to train with the warriors.”

“As you ask, so will I do,” said Wulffaed.

***

The next day was clear and cold. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the number of elders who waited at the bank of the lake. They stretched like a colorful frame around the rocky shore, elder matriarchs who proudly wore the colors of their tribes and who laughed and spoke easily to one another. They went silent when I appeared, curious faces upturned as I climbed atop a boulder so that I could be more easily heard.

“I have been thinking of my mother recently.” I paused as gray heads nodded in agreement and understanding. “The day she was murdered by the Romans, I thought I would never feel content and safe in my own lodge again. I could not imagine a future without her wise presence.” Again, the women nodded. “But surrounded by my tribe, and now the elders of our allies, I have found contentment, even joy, again.”

“Aye.” The word rippled through the women.

“We understand the value of our matriarchs—our elders. It is just one of the many beliefs that separate us from the Romans and the stunted way they live. A people cannot thrive if they do not esteem those who are life bringers.”

“Aye!” Eyes flashed as the matrons responded.

“My mother had a weekly tradition I would like to continue.Once every seven days the women of Tasceni would gather—some in my lodge and some in the homes of the other matriarchs of our tribe—and we would wash our hair and then spend the afternoon before our hearthfires, drying and then dressing each other’s hair as we shared wisdom and laughter, food and drink. Did any of you have this tradition in your villages?”

“We did!” Wulffaed spoke up immediately.

“Aye, as did the Dobunni!” called a woman whose long silver hair waved around her waist.

The voices of women echoed across the lake, raised in excitement. Their eyes glistened with remembrance and hope. It was the hope that I held close to me. It was the hope we all needed to hold close.