Page 72 of Boudicca

Next came our foot soldiers, row after row of them, deep as the sea. Behind the mass of soldiers our chariots followed, and then came our caravans filled with weapons and supplies, healers and elders. Like our other villages, Tasceni would be deserted. Our harvests and livestock were either already at our winter stronghold, deep in the wild Thetford forest, or being driven there now. No Iceni would remain behind to be brutalized or captured by marauding Roman soldiers.

Because the Romans underestimated us, we had been given half ayear to prepare. We had trained and sacrificed and planned. No matter the outcome of the three battles, I knew one truth—Rome would never again underestimate us.

It was a wondrous thing to lead the army. I could feel the determination of my people and their single-minded intent to finallydo something.To move against Rome. To refuse their subjugation and the erasure of our way of life. To fight for our freedom.

We retraced the southern route I’d so recently taken with Cadoc and Maldwyn, moving through the familiar forest with surprising ease and swiftness for such a large group. We pushed hard so that we could stop to camp well before sunset. Our warriors would not go into battle exhausted.

That night the camp was subdued. As I made my way from fire to fire, speaking with the warriors and their families, it felt as if the Iceni were being blanketed by Andraste’s cloak—kept calm and warm and safe by our goddess so that we would be ready for what tomorrow would bring.

When I finally returned to my tent, Enfys and Ceri were soundly asleep, nestled between their wolves like they were pups. Rhan and I sat near the fire and I peered into the basket beside her. I instantly recognized the implements within. “Who are you going to tattoo?”

“You, my queen, if you allow it.” Rhan spoke formally and I felt the weight of the importance of her words. “Last night I dreamed that within a great Samhain bonfire the flames formed a mighty oak, a holy holly, and then a magickal yew before the trees shifted into a blazing raven that soared from the fire into the sky. You are that raven, Boudicca. I believe Brigantia and Andraste sent me the dream, commanding me to mark you with Ogham symbols of protection so that you may soar through battle.”

A sizzle of magick bloomed across my skin, lifting the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. I hadn’t been tattooed before. The permanent marking of skin was something sacred. Something that should only be done solemnly, inspired by the gods. I saw that divine inspiration reflected in the seer’s dark eyes.

“Yes. Mark me, Rhan.”

Rhan motioned for me to move even closer to the fire. I sat on the ground beside her and watched as she took from her basket a smooth whittled piece of wood, about the length of my forearm. The end of it had been carved to look like a miniature hoe, like something one of the tiny fae folk would use to tend a garden. The blade edge of the hoe had been worked thin and razor sharp. From the basket Rhan brought out clean cloths and began steeping antiseptic herbs in hot water poured from the cauldron that was always bubbling over the fire. Rhan had a pot of thick yellow salve that she placed on the ground behind me, next to the mug of steeping herbs.

Lastly, she took out a small stone mallet and then uncovered a wooden bowl filled with the blue dye for which the Iceni were so well-known. It wasn’t the same woad dye we used on our clothes—that was too harsh to be carved into our skin—but the tattoo dye had been carefully crafted to perfectly match the color of woad.

I watched Rhan prepare with excited curiosity. I had, of course, seen tribesmen and -women tattooed and I found myself eager for it.

Rhan began by using the steeped herbal mixture to cleanse my chin, cheeks, and neck. Then she disappeared into the tent and returned with a rolled blanket from my bed pallet and put it behind me so that I could lean back comfortably.

“Ready?” she asked.

I nodded, feeling just a flutter of nerves.

“First, I mark you with the symbol of our mighty oak. May it give you strength in battle.”

She began by dipping the blade of the small wooden tool in the dye. She placed the sharp edge under my bottom lip. Using the stone mallet, she began tapping firmly on the whittled wood at the place on the tool where the slender shaft met the hoelike blade. It was uncomfortable but far from unbearable. As Rhan continued to dip the blade into the dye and tap a solid dark blue line horizontally under my lip from one side of my mouth to the other, she sang softly, wordlessly. The power in her song skittered across my skin as she marked me, wiped away the blood that dripped from the wound, and then continued tattooing me.

I stared into the fire as Rhan finished the thick, solid line, and then from the center of it she tattooed two more lines, parallel to one another, down my chin. When she finished she applied the yellow salve.

Next she moved to my cheekbones, beginning with the one under my right eye.

“I mark you with the sign for the magickal holly trees. May it grant you courage in battle.” Again, Rhan started with a solid blue line that stretched from the top of my cheekbone to my jawline. From the center of that completed line she tapped out three parallel lines moving inward, toward my nose and mouth. When she had completed the marks on both cheeks and rubbed soothing salve into them, she asked me to stretch back my neck.

“With the sacred yew I mark you thrice. May it protect you eternally.”

Rhan tapped a line twice as thick as the other two from the top of my throat to my collarbones, ending just above where my torque nestled. Then, slashing horizontally through that line, she created five more bold blue lines, like spears without tips. Gently she spread salve into my final tattoo. The new marks felt hot on my skin. I was glad of their heat. It reminded me of the power imbued in the three trees and their symbols—now within me.

After Rhan finished we shared a cup of mead. We didn’t speak but sat staring into the fire, not needing to fill the night with words. When my eyelids went heavy, Rhan and I went into the tent. She lay beside me on my pallet.

“May I plait your hair tomorrow?” Rhan’s voice startled me awake.

I rubbed my eyes and yawned. “I’m going to wear my hair loose tomorrow.”

“Yes, I agree, but I have bespelled some things and Andraste has sent me items. I would leave your hair free but use slim braids to knot these things of power into your hair. Would you agree to that?” she asked.

I nodded. “Yes. And I would ask that tomorrow you go withEnfys, Ceri, and Briallen to the rear caravans when the time comes,” I said softly.

“I will do so after I invoke the blessing of Andraste and Brigantia.”

“Thank you.” I took her hand. “I almost cannot believe that this time tomorrow Camulodunum will burn. It seems one of the ancient stories Arianell used to tell me at bedtime when I was even younger than Ceri.”

“Your mother is proud of you,” said Rhan.