Page 44 of Boudicca

As Derwyn led the Druids from the barrow, a raven called from above us. The great black bird circled the hillock the entire time it took for the Druids to close the stone door and Derwyn to reseal it with the wet clay he had prepared and brought with the procession. As one, the Druids extinguished their funeral torches in the remnants of the clay, which my guard would carry back to Tasceni to be burned as the sun set that night.

Slowly, Derwyn approached me. He still looked uncharacteristically weary, though his eyes were no longer shadowed. With his clay-caked finger, he traced the Iceni symbols painted on my forehead as he gave me a final blessing.

“May Andraste’s strength sustain you. May you borrow the cunning of her ravens, the strength of her boars, and the fleetness of her hares—and may you fulfill her naming, Victory of the Iceni.”

Warmth sizzled from my forehead down my body. Rhan moved to my side, leading the extra horse my guard had brought for her.

“Remember that Rhan remains with you as more than your childhood companion. She is your seer, Andraste’s voice. Be wise, queen of the Iceni. Do not make the same mistake the mighty Prasutagus made. Do not allow ego to drive your decisions.”

I bowed my head. “I will remember, Derwyn, high Druid and friend,” I said formally. “Until we meet again, may the joy of the day be with you.” I raised my head to see that his smile was fatherly.

He touched my cheek gently, fleetingly, and replied with, “And may the blessings of the earth be on you.”

Then he turned and the Druids helped him into the lead cart. The rest of his people filled the other carts or walked along with them as they turned to the west and the distant isle that waited for them. The raven that had circled over the barrow followed above, calling with a voice that sounded like a woman screaming in rage.

Though Derwyn did not look back, I remained there watching until he, the Druids, and the accompanying raven were out of sight.

Chapter XVII

“If I have your leave, I will supervise your guard in how to make a bonfire with what is left of the funeral torches, so that at dusk they can be lit and the smoke offered to Andraste.” Rhan spoke softly to me as we reached the outskirts of Tasceni and headed to the corrals and shelters being built to replace the grand stables the Romans had burned.

“Yes, of course,” I said. “Do you need me to join you?”

Rhan smiled knowingly. “No. You are free to remain here, with your Tân, who soothes your spirit.”

I stroked Tân’s smooth neck. “You know me well.” Then I turned in my saddle and spoke to the warrior who marched closest to me. “Dreda, Rhan will give you instructions on how to make ready the funeral torches to burn at dusk. Mind what she says carefully.”

The tall, chestnut-haired woman bowed. “As you ask, so will I do.”

The funeral column broke off from me then as they followed the main road into the heart of Tasceni. I didn’t have to guide Tân the rest of the way to the corrals. The intelligent mare took over for me, which allowed me the luxury of a little pocket of temporary solitude.

Tasceni hummed with activity. It was just after midday, but in the time I’d been at the barrow even more warriors had joined us. Warriors, strangers and those familiar, greeted me when I rode past. I nodded and smiled but did not stop. The Druids’ entombing ritual had eased my grief, but I needed time to break the lingering tendrils of loss that were now more like delicate spiderwebs instead of the chains that had been weighing me down.

Tân followed her head and I was pleased that she chose a corral that was not currently surrounded by warriors, but instead was quietand had tufts of early alfalfa heaped in a pile beside a clean trough brimming with fresh water.

From her back I opened the corral gate and then dismounted, took off her bridle, and unbuckled the thick pelt and leather riding pad before I made my way quickly to a nearby newly erected shelter that held storage space for tack and grain. I chose a wide-toothed wooden comb for her mane and tail, a soft horsehair brush, and an oiled cloth to keep her coat gleaming and repel insects.

When I returned to the corral, Tân had her muzzle buried in the mound of alfalfa and she stood contentedly while I groomed her. Each stroke brought me peace. As Tân sighed, cocked a back leg, and dozed, I sorted through the threads that still bound me with grief. They were lighter and easier to bear, but they clung to me, sticky and insistent.

I ignored what was left of them and cleared my mind, allowing the mare’s peacefulness to flow through me. The cloth moved easily over her smooth, warm coat and smelled sweetly of horse and the oils of lavender, mint, and basil that repelled insects. The scents worked to bring back my childhood, and remembrance lifted my lips in a nostalgic smile. I could almost hear my father proudly telling my mother how steady my seat was and predicting I would make a fine horsewoman.

I rested my head against the mare’s neck, allowing the remembrance to bring me joy rather than loneliness and longing for that which I would never hear again in this lifetime—the voices of my parents.

Behind me someone cleared his throat. I sighed and schooled the annoyance from my face. I was queen of the Iceni, and queens are granted many things, but privacy is not often one of them. I turned to see my horse master, Maldwyn, standing just outside the corral. He was holding two squirming bundles of fur. I frowned in confusion as the wriggling little creatures whined weakly.

“Wolf pups?” I asked.

Maldwyn nodded and smiled sheepishly. “Yes, my queen.”

Intrigued, I approached, slipping through the corral gate. All tribes used hounds to hunt. Prasutagus always had a favorite dog that ate scraps from our table in the lodge. At his death his current favorite, named Bran, had taken to following Cadoc around so much I’d finally told the old warrior to keep the hound in his hut. I’d meant to choose a pup from the next litter born to the tribe and gift him to my daughters. I liked dogs, though not as much as horses, but I’d never seen a wolf pup this young, nor this close.

“They’re thin and look ill—and are so very young,” I said as my finger touched their matted fur. They were small, clearly not old enough to be weaned.

“I—I hope I have not overstepped, my queen.”

Maldwyn’s voice was hesitant, and I looked up from the pups and into his eyes. He was young for a lead warrior, several years even my junior, but he’d had a special connection with horses, and all animals, since he was just a child. Horses in particular seemed to speak to him. The tribe’s dogs followed him around. If he sat still long enough, even Iceni chickens would roost around his feet. His features were strong. His thick hair was white blond, dyed with lime paste, as was the hair of all Iceni cavalry. He would not have been considered handsome except for his striking blue eyes and how his smile transformed his face with warmth. At the moment, though, he appeared nervous as he met my gaze reluctantly and shifted from foot to foot.

“Overstepped? Because you did not put these pups out of their misery?” I glanced down at the little creatures and felt a tug of pity. There had been so much death recently. I thought I could understand how Maldwyn would be reluctant to end their lives.