Page 43 of Boudicca

“The Romans are loath to leave their cities, and when they do they follow the roads with which they scar our lands. We will house the warriors who come to us in the thick forests surrounding Tasceni, well away from Roman roads. We’ll send Iceni to close our borders to the Catuvellauni and Brigantes, and not allow so much as one wagon from either tribe to trade with us, as both have whored themselves to Rome.”

Cadoc grunted in agreement and said, “If either Catuvellauni or Brigantes knew we are arming ourselves against the Romans, they would surely sell that knowledge to Decianus.”

“Agreed,” said Abertha. “And should they try to cross into our territory, they will feed our fens as sacrifices to Andraste, every one of them. None will be allowed to run, tail tucked, to Camulodunum to tell tales to their masters.”

“Yes,” I said.

The lodge doors opened again, admitting Derwyn and Rhan. Both wore white funeral robes. Their faces were painted with Ogham symbols in white paste. Derwyn wore the horns of a stag strapped to an elaborate headdress, and Rhan’s head was crowned in sacred mistletoe.

“Queen Boudicca, we have the baskets of remains loaded onto carts and we are ready to take them for interment in the barrow,” said Derwyn.

Even magnificently dressed to lead the interment rite, the high Druid looked as weary as he had the night before, and I saw that Rhan’s expressive eyes were shadowed, too. I was worried about him—about all the Druids—but the best thing I could do for them was to be sure he and his people began their return journey to Ynys Môn this very day.

“Thank you, Derwyn, I am ready to oversee the interment. Briallen, gather my guard,” I said, and then turned to the three lead warriors of the Iceni. “Cadoc, Abertha, begin setting up campsites in the forests starting at the edges of our fields. Stay to the west and north, well away from Roman roads. Busy the warriors with buildingshelters, and when that is done put them on a training schedule as if they go to war.” I bared my teeth in a fierce smile. “Because we shall go to war.”

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

“And I, Queen Boudicca,” said Abertha. Both warriors bowed to me before leaving the lodge.

“Maldwyn, have my mare readied for me and then continue to oversee the new shelters for our horses,” I said.

Maldwyn stood and bowed. “As you ask, so will I do.”

I turned my attention then to the two weary Druids. “Come, sit, break your fast while my horse is readied.” Derwyn and Rhan took the bench seats my lead warriors had just vacated. As Derwyn picked at bannock, I said, “Thank you for allowing Adara to remain with me. My daughters do well under her healing touch.”

“Queen Boudicca, I read sign this morn at dawn that clearly showed me Adara and Rhan must remain with you as long as you have need of them.” The old Druid met my gaze. “I believe you will have need of the skills of a healer and a seer as you bring vengeance to the Romans.”

“Have you seen it?” I sat forward in the big throne that felt more my own every day. “Have you seen my victory?”

Derwyn nodded somberly. “As the sun lifted I came upon the remains of a golden eagle on the warriors’ practice field—not far from the center of where the pyre had been. Iceni boars had trampled it so that its bones and feathers were crushed and broken and mixed with ash and dirt. Andraste will ensure that your curse is fulfilled.”

***

It was a somber but beautiful procession to the Chief’s Barrow. My Queen’s Guard stretched out along the forest path so that the Druids’ wagons moved forward framed by Iceni in full battle regalia. The contrast was striking between the Druids, all in white robes with their faces painted white, and my guard, who wore Iceni-blue tunics, had covered themselves with fierce tribal paint and dressedtheir hair with beads and shells that clanked ominously as they marched, and held shields and spears at ready.

I couldn’t help thinking back to the last time I’d traveled this path, face painted white, body and spirit numb with grief, as my people and I escorted my husband to his resting place. The echo of that day’s shock and sadness lingered along the path. I felt it in every shadow and heard it in the muted birdsong. But today my body wasn’t numb. The anger that simmered in my spirit left me clear minded and determined instead of grief-stricken and insensible.

The Iceni barrows were located an easy ride north of Tasceni near the joining of the rivers Yar and Tas. Though graceful white willows lined the riversides, the barrows were bare of trees. Knee-deep grasses the rich green of emeralds decorated their overturned bowl-like design. The smaller barrows were covered only by grass. The larger were littered with stones, as if one of the immortals had been casting Ogham and after reading them had abandoned them where they lay. The area was sacred. Even the Romans felt the power of the place and stayed well away. The Chief’s Barrow was the largest hillock. Around it were lesser mounds, several of which were empty and served as sanctuaries for our tribe. They were where the Iceni had fled when the Romans attacked. Our procession went directly to the central barrow and halted in front of the large entrance.

The doorway faced the east, as was customary. Two wooden pillars stood on either side of the entrance, with a wooden lintel over the stone door. Ogham symbols of protection, the Iceni sickle moons with stars, and Andraste’s ravens had been carved into the pillars and across the lintel. A large round sandstone slab had been placed on the ground before the door. Into its flat surface more Ogham symbols had been carved. To gain entrance to the tomb, the slab had to be crossed. Should anyone except the Druids and the newly dead enter the barrow, the symbols would activate and the desecrator would carry from the barrow much more than stolen treasure. A Druid’s curse would cling to them like lice, eventually infesting their spirit and their life with the darkness of their deed. Few people dared to awaken such a curse.

All around the entrance tucked into the deeply carved pillars and the rocky face of the barrow were gifts and offerings, many of them fresh, as the Iceni did not easily forget their chiefs and queens.

When we had interred Prasutagus, I had followed his body, with my mother by my side, to the entrance of the tomb and watched from there while Derwyn led the Druids in the procession that placed my husband and his riches within. I remembered well the darkness inside, relieved only by the smoking mullein torches the Druids had carried. The barrow within had been lovingly lined with more wooden pillars that, tunnellike, opened to the large round inner tomb. The walls and ceiling of it, too, were fortified by wood.

Derwyn used his staff to break the clay seal he had so recently placed around the stone door. Then, with iron bars, the strongest of the Druids pried open the thick door. When it opened I caught the scent of decay that escaped from within. It was laced with the lavender and rosemary that had been mounded around my husband’s body, and that is what I focused on as Rhan opened a bronze tinderbox, from which she lit a thick funeral torch of dried mullein stalk that had been dipped over and over in tallow and then encrusted with fragrant herbs. As the first funeral torch was lit, the Druids began to sing. Like Rhan’s song at Andraste’s altar the day before, their tune was wordless and beautiful. The Druids who remained in the carts set the rhythm of the song with drums of stretched hides and rattles made from gourds grown on Ynys Môn.

Then Rhan approached the line of Druids, who, two by two, carried between them the large woven baskets filled with Iceni bones, ashes, and finery not destroyed by the heat of the pyre. As the Iceni seer ceremonially lit the torches each Druid held, their feet began to follow the rhythm of the music and the undulating song. Rhan’s grace was mesmerizing as she moved like water between them, leaving light and herbed smoke in her wake.

When the last torch was lit, Rhan went to Derwyn, bowed low, and gave him the blazing brand she held. Moving in time with the heartbeat of the music, Derwyn led the funeral procession into the mouth of the tomb.

I could see the Druids, illuminated by the flickering torches, spread out around the ornately carved wagon in the center of the tomb on which rested my husband’s body. They encircled Prasutagus with the baskets as if he were their moon and they were his stars. And then the Druids followed Rhan in her dance and they wove around the circle they’d made of our dead while Derwyn went to each basket and traced protective symbols in the air over them. Their dance was primal and raw and passionate. It was a release of life, of pain, of being tethered to Arbred. Its magic brushed against my skin—a caress that was a question. Would I allow grief to rule my life?

As the old Druid finished at the last of the baskets, he turned to Prasutagus and raised his staff to the fallen chief. The Druids’ dance and their music went silent. Derwyn’s voice echoed from the center of the barrow, sounding as far away as if he had entered Annwn.

“Rest well, mighty Iceni chief. Be at peace as your people join you. Feast, dance, make merry—and save a place at the long table for those yet to make the journey to Annwn.”

His words released a great pressure from my breast. The sorrow of losing my mother and so many elders was not so overwhelming when I imagined them together again with Prasutagus. And I realized I’d answered the question asked by nwyfre, the life force that flowed through us all. I chose not to allow grief to rule my life. Anger replaced grief, but deep within me I hoped that someday I would not need to hold to anger so tightly, though for now it served me well.