Page 32 of Boudicca

They, too, did not hesitate in their answer. Both girls nodded.

“Will you believe—if I give you my word—that I have found a way to make you feel safe, even there, on that field?”

Again, they nodded, though more slowly than before.

“Then let us go and show everyone the courage of the daughters of Queen Boudicca.” Briallen straightened and held out her hands, so that each girl took one. Then she bowed to me. “We follow you, my queen.”

“Rhan, please walk with us,” I said.

My friend bowed her head slightly. “As you ask, so will I do.”

I walked from my mother’s chamber through the lodge, which was now completely empty. At the closed doors, I fisted my handand rapped three times against the thick wood. Two Queen’s Guards flung the doors wide open, and what I saw made me gasp in awe and appreciation and pride.

Before us, stretching all the way through the village and down to the massive pyre, were the women of the Iceni tribe. Dressed in their finest to honor their fallen loved ones, as well as their queen’s mother, they faced one another. Each woman held a long strip of blue-dyed cloth over her head, connecting her to the woman across from her so that it seemed they had built a tunnel of women and Iceni woad, surrounding my daughters and me with the maternal strength of our tribe.

Humbled by the love of my people, I bowed my head and whispered a prayer.Mighty Andraste, help me to be worthy of them.Then I looked back at my daughters. Their eyes were wide and round with wonder. Ceri was smiling. My gaze lifted from them to the silent warrior standing at my side.

“This is what you did?”

“Aye, my queen.”

I went to the warrior, and as Briallen bowed before me I lifted her by placing my hands on her bruised cheeks, and—just as my mother would have—kissed her gently, there in front of the watching tribe, before I spoke in a voice that carried with the breeze, floating to the women like the blue banners over their heads.

“Briallen, let it be known that for this kindness I name you leader of the Queen’s Guard. You have my eternal gratitude.” Then I turned to face the tunnel of woad. My gaze scanned the Iceni women. “You have my eternal gratitude as well.”

As one, the women shouted the Iceni war cry, which lifted and fell with the wind. Then the drummers began and the pounding of the tribe’s bodhráns, handheld drums that were beaten by carved wooden sticks called tippers, pulsed around us. Using powerful flicks of the wrist, the drummers beat out the untamed music of the Iceni.

Head held high, followed by a seer, a battered warrior, and my two brave daughters, I strode through the tunnel of women and woad as the pulse of the Iceni filled the night.

At the practice grounds, the tribe, once again, surrounded the pyre in a living circle. Arianell’s body was the center point. Her section of the pyre had been elevated. At her head were the antlers of a stag, and around her wrapped body on the flat wooden litter were hunks of meat, mounds of herbs, pots filled with dye, precious spices, and her favorite perfumed oils—as well as the body of her beloved servant and friend.

The queen mother was joined by a full circle, wheel-like, of shrouded bodies. They lay side by side, with items of value and importance to each of them at their feet and head: more choice hunks of meat, favorite pieces of jewelry, shields, and spears, as well as carved images of patron gods or goddesses. Completing the circle were the bodies of our beloved horses and woven baskets filled with grain.

Derwyn waited at the end of the tunnel of women with a burning brand held in his hand. He had not changed his robes, and the outline of Andraste’s raven had turned a dark, rusted color that was even more pronounced against the otherwise spotless white. He turned to greet me and the tribe went silent.

“Are you ready, queen of the Iceni?” the Druid asked.

“I am.”

He faced the east, lifting his arms. With him the tribe turned to face east as well. Derwyn’s voice filled the darkening night with the power of nwyfre, the life force that runs through the earth, sky, and water around us and fills each of the Iceni with a spark of immortal spirit.

“Bright Brigantia, I call on you first as patron goddess of Arianell, mother of the queen of the Iceni. Let your fire cleanse her of the pain of leaving this world!”

Derwyn and the tribe turned to face south. “Gracious Brigantia, I ask that your snow-white hart guide Arianell to your side, where she may feast the night away!”

The Druid and the tribe continued to turn, now facing west. “Next, I beseech the god of youth, Mabon ap Modron, to touch Arianell and those who perished with her and breathe youthful joyinto them. Lead Arianell and her people in revelry tonight and many nights hence with dance and drink and feasting befitting a beloved Iceni matriarch!”

Finally Derwyn turned to the north, facing the pyre. “Lastly, I call forth Andraste! Patron goddess of the Iceni, triple-faced goddess of fertility, the hearth, home, and war. Many of your children died with the Iceni’s queen mother, so many that I know this night your feast table will be long and filled with familiar faces. You will sacrifice the fattest sow and open the golden casks of ale for all—all died the death of warriors and all are worthy!”

He nodded to the other Druids who stood beside him, and as he finished the prayer, they stepped forward to lay woven sprigs of sacred mistletoe at the feet of the dead atop the mound of dried boughs. Then he finished the funeral rite, speaking the final prayer.

Arrayed in some new flesh disguise

Another mother gives birth.

With sturdy limbs and bright new brain.

The old soul will someday take the well-traveled road to Arbred again, again, again.