Page 81 of Boudicca

I sat up straighter and passed a hand across my face. A flash of something to my right drew my attention and I turned my head to see Andraste. The goddess rode Brigantia’s white stag. His snow-colored coat was covered with grime and blood—as was the goddess. She carried a spear that was dark with blood, and a battered shield. Goddess and stag looked as if they’d been in battle beside us, beside me. Andraste’s gaze met mine. Her face was spattered with blood but she smiled, her teeth flashing in the eerie violet light of Annwn. “Well done, my Victory,”she said.

Like a loosened tide, the word crested around me as I moved through the camp.

“Victory.”

“There is our Victory.”

“Queen Boudicca—Victory.”

I was a chant my people spoke, or rather a prayer. I looked to my right again, but the goddess had vanished back into the Otherworld. I met my people’s gazes, nodding, acknowledging, honoring their tribute, their loyalty, their love, knowing our goddess was near and was receiving their praises, too.

My tent was set apart from the others. Rhan’s sigil had been planted in the ground before it and the skulls clattered softly in the breeze. The tent glowed with candlelight from within. Outside was a large cook fire over which two iron cauldrons bubbled. I was so relieved to see the Mother of Twenty that I almost threw my arms around the old woman.

“Queen Boudicca, my daughters will have your bath poured immediately. I’ve food for you waiting within.” She bowed quickly to me and then began ordering her daughters around.

When I dismounted, I had to focus on not falling to the ground, as I discovered my legs were almost as stiff as my stonelike throwing arm. Phaedra tossed one herbal bundle to Wulffaed, saying, “Brew this for our queen,” and then took my elbow and guided me within my tent, where she went to a table that sat beside my bed pallet, poured a full mug of honey mead from a waiting pitcher, and gave it to me.

I drank it all without taking a breath. As Phaedra took the mug and poured me another, I tried to pull off my tunic but staggered and almost fell.

“One more. Drink it all, my queen.” Phaedra handed me the full mug.

Again, I drank it down. Phaedra began untying the leather guards from my forearms and shins. I was shivering, but I felt no cold. She took off my clothes as Wulffaed’s daughters began coming and going, pouring steaming water into the copper tub that they’d carried in my caravan from Tasceni.

“Phaedra, I don’t want to soak in this filth.” My gesture took in my body, including my hair, which was matted with grime and blood and smelled of smoke and death and scorched flesh. “Get some buckets of water. I don’t care that they’re cold. I want them poured over me.” My voice sounded normal, calm even, but my body would not stop shaking. I felt something building within me—something dark and terrible. I had to get the blood and gore from my body soon.

“But, my queen, if you wait just a moment we can warm—”

“Now.” I interrupted her and, naked, strode from the tent.

Phaedra rushed after me. Wulffaed looked up as I emerged. She took in my nakedness and nodded. Before I could say anything she gestured at her four closest daughters. “Each of you fill a bucket of fresh water. Take them to the queen and pour the water over her.”

Moments later I was surrounded by women. One by one they gently poured icy water over me as Phaedra and I scrubbed my skin and my hair. I looked down and saw the filthy, rust-colored water pooling at my feet. Then I tilted back my head and they poured water over it, too.

Shivering now because of the cold, I hurried back into my tent and slowly lowered myself into the steaming tub. I was surprised to feel the sting of the water on my new tattoos. I’d forgotten about the Ogham symbols of protection Rhan had marked me with the night before. It seemed as if that had happened in another lifetime. Wordlessly, Wulffaed entered the tent and handed me a mug that smelled strongly of herbs and honey. I nodded my thanks and sipped the hot liquid carefully as Phaedra sprinkled more herbs into the water and knelt beside me, cleaning my wound. I closed my eyes against the pain and sipped the tea.

When my wound was clean, Phaedra replaced my empty tea mug with more mead before she went to work on my hair. She began unraveling the raven feathers and eagle bones from the snarled braids and then soaped and rinsed it. Gently, she used a wide-toothed wooden comb to detangle the mass of it. Her touch mixed with the tea and mead was a drug, and I allowed myself to relax. I did not think. I felt only the strokes of the comb through my hair as I listened to the lullaby she hummed. When she had worked through all of the snarls, she plaited it in one long, loose braid and helped me from the tub, drying me gently with a clean cloth. She wrapped me in the cloth and I sat on my bed pallet as she smeared salve into my wound, dressed it in long strips of cloth, and rubbed more of the salve into my fresh tattoos. Then she helped me into my soft nightdress.

“You may go now, Phaedra. Adara has need of you back at the healer tents.”

Phaedra gave me a doubtful look. “But, Queen Boudicca...”

I shook my head wearily. “There is no need for you to stay. I will eat, then I will sleep. Tell Wulffaed she and her daughters must join you. The wounded will all need to be moved to this camp tonight.”

Phaedra sighed but bowed to me. “As you ask, so will I do.”

Before she opened the tent flap and ducked out I said, “Thank you, Phaedra. You have helped me greatly this night.”

She looked back at me, and in the candlelight I could see the shine of unshed tears in her eyes. “I am honored to serve Victory.”

Then she was gone. I heard her relaying my command to Wulffaed, followed by the rustling of women departing. I moved slowly to the table on which a plate of meat and cheese and bread waited. I poured more mead, ignoring the fact that my hand shook so hard that I spilled much of it. Feeling centuries old, I sat and ate. I tasted nothing. I focused only on chewing and swallowing, and as I ate, my body continued to awaken.

I hurt all over and I tried to keep my mind on the dull, toothache-like pain of my wound, the leaden weight of my spear arm, the incredible weariness in my legs and back and shoulders. I finished eating and went to my bed pallet. I lay back and gave in to the exhaustion that filled every particle of my body.

An odd feeling washed through me. It was as if my spirit was finding it difficult to remain attached to my body. I was dizzy. I trembled. My breath came short and fast. I panted as if I were running through the woods. My stomach heaved and I swallowed the saliva that filled my mouth, trying not to lose the food I’d just eaten. My chest felt tight.

That was when they returned to me. Each of the men I’d killed, beginning with the old soldier near the Balkerne gates. Their eyes haunted me. Their last breaths rattled through my body. Their shrieks of pain filled my ears.

I didn’t realize that I sat—my arms wrapped tightly around myself as if I were trying to hold my disintegrating body together—that I was sobbing openly, wrenchingly, until the flap of my tent opened and I looked up through tears to see Maldwyn.