Page 41 of Boudicca

I nodded, and as Rhan took off her leather shoes and chose the bowl filled with rich, amber honey, I breathed deeply, grounding myself. Slowly at first, the seer began dancing a circle around the raised altar and me. Her feet followed the music of her soul; her movements were so graceful she appeared to flow. She sang a wordless tune, increasing the tempo of her spirit song. Her voice was high and true. She swayed and twirled with a sensuality that was beautiful and alluring. Her bare feet traced an intricate pattern as she circled, drizzling honey around the base of the altar. The pleasing scent of sweetness lifted from the loamy forest floor and I felt a rush of pleasure at the rich offering—a feeling that I knew did not come from me. Andraste loved sweets and rich foods, and it was those things she craved as tribute from her suppliants—that and the blood of her enemies.

The words came easily to me, and I spoke them in a singsong rhythm that wove with Rhan’s dance.

Andraste, you are the word of knowledge;

the power of the point of the spear;

the lure that calls us beyond the ends of the earth when our lives are over.

You have been raven and boar and hare.

You are the wind and earth, our fire and water.

I am yours, Andraste. Always yours.

Your Victory, who comes to you today to ask that you hasten home Derwyn, who has long been beloved of Annwn.

The oaks of Ynys Môn keen for him, but he is here tending to the Iceni.

I paused, and when I spoke again words spilled from my mouth as Rhan continued in her dance and poured the fatty goat’s milk over the honey.

Soothe the oaks as Derwyn hastens to them.

Ready him for what is to come.

Strengthen him. Be near him. Give him courage.

He has well and truly served the gods his long life.

As I ended my prayer, Rhan poured the last of the libations and then dropped into a deep, fluid bow to the goddess. Then a mighty gust of wind sluiced through the boughs of the ancient oak so that her leaves whispered and moaned and sighed. The flesh on my forearms and neck prickled as my hair lifted and the evening clouds that had so recently parted closed, casting the grove deep into shadow.

***

We left the bowls at Andraste’s feet, knowing that the tribe would fill them with sweets and treats for our goddess. Rhan and I walked slowly back through the trees. We paused at the remnants of the pyre, where the Druids had been joined by those of our people most experienced with plowing our fertile fields. Somberly the Iceni tilled the ashes of our elders into the soil. In the days to come the warriors would return to the field and their feet would hard-pack the ashes into the earth. Every day after this one, we would know that the ashes of our people who had died defending their village and their queen were just below the surface, giving us strength for battles to come.

Then Rhan and I took the main road that would lead us to my lodge, where the voices of women would be filling it with life again. My steps were lighter. My girls would recover. My people would answer my call—I felt sure of it. We would fulfill Andraste’s curse. Vengeance would be ours.

We’d reached the area just outside the lodge that had been lined with trestle tables. It wasn’t full dark yet, but fires had been lit around the tables and the Iceni shared ale as they relaxed after a long, productive day. Beside me I felt Rhan stiffen, and then I heard horses approaching, but this time fear didn’t smother me. Even before I turned to see them I knew by the way their hooves beat out the sound of freedom that we had nothing to fear.

The faces of the Tasceni villagers reflected my joy as ten horses and a chariot drawn by two galloped to me and slid to a dramatic halt. The Iceni warriors who rode and drove them were dressed in full battle regalia. Bronze helmets decorated with plumes of horsehair caught the last light of the sun and gleamed. Short shields and quivers filled with arrows were slung across their painted shoulders. They wore leather breeches dyed Iceni woad blue. Their faces, as well as their horses, were painted with Iceni signs and symbols of Andraste. They were small in number but they were magnificent.

The tall blond man who was their leader was unfamiliar to me, but he dismounted gracefully and dropped to one knee before me. He, like the horses and the other warriors, was covered in sweat and breathing heavily, but when he spoke, his deep voice did not falter.

“Queen Boudicca, I am Ealhhere, horse master of Durobrav.”

“Rise, Ealhhere. You are most welcome to Tasceni.”

He stood. “More of our warriors follow, though slower as they come with carts filled with weapons.”

“You say you are from Durobrav?” I asked.

“We are, my queen.”

“But Durobrav is a hard day’s ride from here,” I said. “My riders could not have reached your village.”

Ealhhere stood even taller as he replied, “We met two of your riders half a day from here.”

I shook my head as if to clear it. “But how could you have known to come?”