Page 62 of Boudicca

“The one that leads from here to Londinium,” said the man with the braid.

The first man clucked his tongue. “’Tis a bad omen. A bad omen.”

“Aye. It’s as if Victory meant to escape what is to come.” The bearded man wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “I hear the Iceni and Trinovantes have harvested early.”

The other two men nodded and shared pointed looks.

The bearded man continued. “Mayhap that’s where the Fourteenth and Twentieth legions are headed. Out to put the boot to the two tribes as they collect the harvest tax.”

I felt a chill of fear as I listened intently.

The Catuvellauni shrugged. “Why take the legions to do that? It only took a centuria to attack Tasceni, and they returned from that missing only a handful of Romans—or so they bragged. No, Paulinus is up to something else.”

“Mark my words,” said the man with the braid. “Victory falling was a warning to us. I’m taking my family and heading to the inland forest. Won’t return until snow bites the air, if then.”

The Catuvellauni nodded slowly. “I’m going inland too, well away from any Roman road or city. I have no love for Iceni or Trinovantes, but less for Rome.” He leaned forward and hatred deepened his voice.“I fought with them against Addedomaros and they still took my farm and divided it between three Romans.” He spit on the floor. “I’ll never raise my sword to aid them again.”

The other two men grunted and nodded before they refilled their mugs.

Maldwyn joined us as the serving woman placed three platters filled with succulent baked chicken and beets, red as blood, swimming in onions, before us. We didn’t speak while we ate. We continued to listen as the conversations around us all held a similar theme—Tribe Catuvellauni strained under the yoke of their Roman overlords.

It was fully dark with only a fat yellow crescent moon to light the night after we retraced our way to the almost deserted Balkerne Gate and trotted west. We found a deer path that led away from the stone road into the forest and a grove of silver birches that clustered around a narrow stream. The ground under the trees was thick with moss. Cadoc and Maldwyn raised a crude shelter while I built a fire, and then we spread out our bedrolls and shared a bladder of Wulffaed’s honey mead.

“I want to warn them,” I said. “I wish I could tell every Briton to leave Camulodunum.”

Cadoc raised a thick silver-gray brow at me. “Have a care, Boudicca. We are vulnerable here. If we draw too much attention to ourselves we could be discovered and killed. Then we will be of no help to anyone.”

“I will not give us away, but I would not have our countrymen within those walls when we bring our vengeance to the Romans.”

Maldwyn nodded. “My queen, I believe Andraste has heard you. She will find a way to warn the people who will listen. Have faith.”

I met his steady gaze. “I do.”

Cadoc blew out a long breath. “We could spread the story of Victory falling from the arch. Call it the warning it is. Encourage those who might be considering leaving the city to do so immediately.”

“Yes,” I said. “Tomorrow as we move through the city blocks among those who come to trade with the Romans, that is what we must do. It is the right thing to do.”

“Remember that the Catuvellauni are not our friends,” grumbled Cadoc. “Do not trust them.”

“They are not friends, but they did not attack Tasceni. They did not kill our elders, rape my daughters, or flay the flesh from my back, and they cannot force us to pay taxes to them. The Catuvellauni are a familiar enemy, one that can be dealt with swiftly once the Romans are not infesting our land. We will kill them if they stand with Rome. If they do not...” I shrugged.

“As you ask, so will I do,” Cadoc said, though with obvious reluctance.

Maldwyn’s smile flashed white in the firelight. “Andraste will find a way, my queen. I am sure of it.”

I do so hope you are right, I thought as I stared into the fire.

Chapter XXIII

In the morning the Balkerne Gate was even more crowded than it had been the evening before. I was glad we were mounted and not on foot or dragging a cart. Instead we were able to guide our horses around the slower-moving traffic. The soldiers stationed at the two lookout towers were as apathetic as the day before. Cadoc’s lip curled in disdain when we passed unchecked and unnoticed through the gates again.

We turned north at the first of the side streets and followed the large square that was Camulodunum, noting each of the other gates and where the ditch was shallowest and would be easiest for our cavalry to navigate. By midday we’d made mental maps of the circumference of the city and headed to the Gosbecks, where I meant to leave my mother’s pendant as an offering for Brigantia. On the way we stopped at a public house to eat, making sure that we engaged the scullery maid in a lively conversation about Victory falling and the dark omen that must be. I was gratified when several of the tables around us paused their conversations to listen, nodding along with us.

Andraste, I know I cannot save them all, but let those who will take heed save themselves.I found myself praying quietly to my goddess all that day as it seemed she listened with the wind and watched through the eyes of each raven perched on the foreign tiles that roofed the soulless stone buildings the Romans called home.

There were fewer Roman houses in the Gosbecks and instead many round huts with goat pens, chickens, and hutches filled with fat hares. In this area of the city there were also decidedly fewer Romans walking the streets and haggling with merchants. I was able to relax just a little and breathe deeply of the familiar scents. If I closed my eyes it almost seemed I was back in Tasceni.

The land lifted gently to a green clearing, in the center of which large stones carved with Ogham symbols were interspersed with oaks. The focal point of the clearing was a circle of flat stones from which blazed an ever-burning flame, similar to the fire that was never allowed to extinguish before Brigantia’s shrine at Isurium, the seat of the Brigantes’ royal family, where I’d been born. There were a few people present, all women and all dressed in the style of the tribes. I smiled at the absence of Romans. Brigantia would approve.