Page 27 of Boudicca

“But do not tell me what you saw; not now. You can tell me when I become queen so I choose the right decoration for my torque.”

In my dream memory I watched my seventeen-year-old self chatter as Rhan and I collected our things and returned to the Trinovantes village. But this time I focused on Rhan and noticed now what I hadn’t had the wisdom to see then.

My friend had remained somber and pale. Rhan only spoke enough to keep the young version of me from asking her more questions about the vision. Then, I had believed Rhan had been shaken because the vision was proof that she must leave to train with the Druids, which meant that she would never be queen of the Trinovantes. Not long after that day, I returned to the Iceni and Rhan began the journey to the Druid stronghold on the isle of Ynys Môn. Until the dream, I had forgotten about Rhan’s first true vision.

Rhan was so quiet, so pale, because she had seen the truth. She spoke literally. She saw me wearing a golden torque. But which torque? And what else did she see that day?

“Boudicca, you must wake.”

Like a memory swimming up from the past to surface in the present, Rhan’s voice intruded on my dream. I opened my eyes to see my friend, no longer a girl, leaning over my bed and shaking my shoulder.

“What? What is it?” I sat up abruptly and then winced at the pain in my back.

Phaedra was suddenly awake as well. “Oh! I did not know the Druid had entered! I am so sorry, I was—”

“Ssh, Phaedra. All is well. This is my friend Rhan the seer. She has long had the ability to move unseen and unheard.” I ignored the pain and stiffness in my back and swung my legs off the side of the bed as I smoothed the hair from my face. “It is dawn?”

Rhan nodded. “Just so. The warriors have returned, and so has Gar.”

“Gar? He is just now returning from the fen?”

“He is, and he did not come alone. He brings with him a captive, the reason the Romans found their way through the fog and the sinking sand.”

I felt a flush of anger, and as it receded, it left clarity and calm in its wake. I knew exactly what I must do. “I will dress quickly. Tell Derwyn to assemble the warriors and the tribe at the practice grounds around the pyre. Have Gar bring the intruder to me there.”

“As you ask, so will I do.” As silently as she had arrived, Rhan slipped from the chamber.

“I will get you fresh food and ale. Then I can—”

“There is no time,” I interrupted. “Help me dress. There is still bread and cheese from last night here. I shall eat while you comb out my hair.” Phaedra helped me into the beautiful gown that had been my mother’s last gift.

“Should I triple-plait your hair in the style your mother preferred?”

“No,” I said around bites of unleavened bread and thick goat cheese. “Brush it out and leave it unbound—as all Iceni should be.”

Chapter XI

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 Môn, 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.