Chapter XXXIV
The snow began two days after the last caravan entered the valley. It fell with a steadiness that proclaimed winter had arrived
in the mountains and would not be departing until spring—so we settled in for the long, dark months ahead of us.
I was used to wintering deep in the Thetford forest, where we would get snow, but it was nothing like the steady stream of
white that fell from the low, gray sky that engulfed the Eryri Mountains. I was glad we were shielded from the worst of the
storms so that, snug in our valley, I was able to appreciate the stark beauty of the snow. It had a muffling effect I’d never
before experienced. Mornings when I rose with the sun, I was awed by the quiet and the way dawn’s light touched the newly
fallen snow, turning it to faceted jewels.
The army got to work immediately. The blacksmiths and farmers collaborated on how to adapt plow designs to the snow so that
not only were we able to keep a slim trail cleared from our valley out to the peat bogs, but we were able to maintain winding
paths through our huge camp and create a large training field where our warriors practiced daily. As Cadoc often said, it
would not do for our army to emerge fat and lazy from a winter of inaction. I agreed with him, but more because I knew bored
warriors would become troublesome rather than because I worried that they would be too portly to face down the Romans.
In a combined effort to combat boredom and fatigue, Addedomaros, Comux, Leofric, and I joined our warriors in their training.
It was nostalgic for me. I’d thrived the spring and summer before as I trained for war, and it felt good to continue building
muscle and balance and skill. Within a fortnight the huge camp had settled into habits that helped us thrive.
We trained during the middle of the day, taking advantage of the slim hours of light. It mattered not at all whether the sky was clear and brilliant cerulean or slate-colored and pregnant with snow. As the wan sun sank into the mountains that protected our valley, we cared for our precious herds until it was time for dinner and the telling of tales that followed—a tradition Rhan had started when she’d asked me to share with the large group I’d chosen to eat with the story of Andraste riding beside me after the battle of Camulodunum. I’d only been partway into the tale when I noticed the crowd around the campfire had doubled. Bright eyes glistened in the firelight as they watched me recount how Andraste had ridden Brigantia’s white stag, escorting me from the burning city to our camp. They’d cheered as I finished the telling, and Rhan had whispered, “Stories are precious to your people. They will collect them and hold them close during this long winter, and in the spring will repeat them proudly as we emerge and face the Romans once again.”
After that night it became tradition for the chiefs and lead warriors to move from hearthfire to hearthfire, sharing tales
and listening to others tell them as we encouraged our people to remember why we had become an army—so that Rome could not
dilute our beliefs, our pride, our very spirits.
The long winter nights allowed time for love. I watched my people with knowing smiles as passion warmed their beds. Maldwyn
proved to be an unexpected joy. I’d wondered about what might happen between us as the valley closed and the cold months stretched
before us. I would never marry again. Not because I wasn’t interested in loving, but rather because I had no interest in dividing
my rule. I had been queen for almost one full year. I’d gained my people’s trust and loyalty. I was more than simply comfortable
being queen of the Iceni; I ruled wisely. I’d established a council that was rich with experience and wisdom. My people knew
that even though I depended upon the advice of that council, ultimately the decisions made for them were mine. If I married,
it would instantly bring into question who was ruling the Iceni.
I would listen to my council. I would consult Andraste. But I would not bow my will to any man’s.
Though Maldwyn and I did not speak of it, by his actions it was clear he understood. Above all else, I was his queen. He deferred
to me, not with subservience but with respect. He was always eager to come to my bed, or welcome me to his, though he never
instigated our nights together. We shared long, intimate looks and smiles, and were of one mind as we trained together in
our chariot, but Maldwyn never attempted to use our intimacy to advance his own desires. If the herd needed something, he
brought that need to me during our council meetings. The only words we whispered to one another in the dark of night were
those of passion. I felt safe with him.
I did not hide the fact that he and I were lovers. The Iceni and the other tribes had no foolish taboos about desire. We loved
freely, easily, and openly. When Maldwyn and I walked to the training grounds together, I often saw my people smile knowingly
at us. Passion was nothing more than another aspect of our lives. Chiefs and queens who did not display their passions were
often looked upon as lacking. While I have never been one to flaunt my desires publicly, there was less privacy in our valley
than in Tasceni, and my people were well aware that their queen did not lack passion.
As the nights lengthened and the days became short and frigid, I thought of my mother often, especially when I watched Wulffaed
in the candlelight guiding my daughters as they practiced their needlework. The Mother of Twenty and her brood of daughters
and granddaughters filled my makeshift lodge with the happy sounds of women’s laughter, evoking memories of other long winters
when my mother reigned over the matriarchs of our tribe. Our lodge had always been a meeting place for women to talk and share
ideas, trade goods and support each other. For the first time since Arianell’s death, I felt feminine comradeship and support
again and realized how desperately I’d missed it.
“Wulffaed!” I called as I sat straighter and pulled my thoughts from the past.
“My queen?”
“I wish to reclaim one of my mother’s favorite traditions and would like your help in doing so.” My daughters turned their
bright, eager gazes to me, and I smiled.
“Of course, Queen Boudicca. How may I help?”
I noticed Rhan and Briallen had also paused in what they were doing to watch me. “Spread word that the matriarchs of each
tribe will gather there”—I jerked my chin toward the dark body of water outside the cave—“at the bank of the lake tomorrow
before I go to train with the warriors.”
“As you ask, so will I do,” said Wulffaed.
***
The next day was clear and cold. I shouldn’t have been surprised by the number of elders who waited at the bank of the lake.
They stretched like a colorful frame around the rocky shore, elder matriarchs who proudly wore the colors of their tribes
and who laughed and spoke easily to one another. They went silent when I appeared, curious faces upturned as I climbed atop
a boulder so that I could be more easily heard.
“I have been thinking of my mother recently.” I paused as gray heads nodded in agreement and understanding. “The day she was
murdered by the Romans, I thought I would never feel content and safe in my own lodge again. I could not imagine a future
without her wise presence.” Again, the women nodded. “But surrounded by my tribe, and now the elders of our allies, I have
found contentment, even joy, again.”
“Aye.” The word rippled through the women.
“We understand the value of our matriarchs—our elders. It is just one of the many beliefs that separate us from the Romans
and the stunted way they live. A people cannot thrive if they do not esteem those who are life bringers.”
“Aye!” Eyes flashed as the matrons responded.
“My mother had a weekly tradition I would like to continue. Once every seven days the women of Tasceni would gather—some in my lodge and some in the homes of the other matriarchs of our tribe—and we would wash our hair and then spend the afternoon before our hearthfires, drying and then dressing each other’s hair as we shared wisdom and laughter, food and drink. Did any of you have this tradition in your villages?”
“We did!” Wulffaed spoke up immediately.
“Aye, as did the Dobunni!” called a woman whose long silver hair waved around her waist.
The voices of women echoed across the lake, raised in excitement. Their eyes glistened with remembrance and hope. It was the
hope that I held close to me. It was the hope we all needed to hold close.
“Tomorrow, instead of training, the women of the army will unite. Elders, speak with the maidens and mothers of your villages.
Have them prepare.” I smiled. “And by ‘prepare’ I mean open the special winter mead.”
“Aye, that we can do!” Wulffaed called, followed by women’s laughter.
“Every seventh day shall be Arianell’s Day, in honor of my mother and all of the mothers we miss,” I said.
The first Arianell’s Day was filled with joy that was so familiar I could easily imagine my mother close by, approving as
Dafina grumbled about needing a bigger space for so many women. We began at the bank of Arglwyddes y Llyn, where Wulffaed
had supervised the building of many fires, over which cauldrons of water scented by herbs warmed. The women of the army flocked
to the lake, bringing mugs of mead, which they drank deeply of as they waited in turn to wash their hair in the cold lake,
and then to rinse it in steaming herb-scented water. Women’s voices rang across the lake, as sweet as the scent of herbs.
Then, heads wrapped in drying cloths, the women made their way to the caves and caravans and tents that housed their elder
matriarchs.
My cave lodge was filled with women, young and old. Wulffaed and her daughters took turns with women I did not know serving food and mulled mead, and by the end of the day I knew the name of each of them—and I, too, had taken a turn serving the strong, beautiful women of my tribe.
“Rhan!” I finally caught sight of my friend through the crowd of women. I’d looked for her at the bank of the lake but had
lost her in the milling mass.
“Queen Boudicca,” she said after she’d pushed her way to where I was seated before the central hearthfire.
“There you are. Come, sit before me. I have a surprise for you.” Phaedra was behind me, working a wide-toothed comb through
my damp hair, and I turned to her. “You know the pebbles on the table in my bedchamber?”
“I do, my queen.”
“Get them for me, please.” Phaedra nodded and went to do my bidding. I motioned to a short stool before me on which I’d been
resting my feet. “Sit, Rhan.” The seer gave me a slanted look that was a clear question, but I simply smiled and pointed to
the stool. Rhan sighed and sat before me.
“Enfys, Ceri—did you bathe your wolves?” Rhan asked with laughter in her voice.
My daughters sat on either side of me. Their wolves, now almost fully grown, lay in front of them, as close as they could
get to the fire, their muzzles in their paws, looking waterlogged and miserable.
“We did!” Ceri chirped. “Mona and Sunne rolled in something very stinky and we decided it would be perfect for them to join
us on Arianell’s Day.”
“Yes,” Enfys added. “Especially as Nain would not approve of our wolves making our bed pallets stinky.”
I laughed. “She certainly would not.” Phaedra returned and passed me a handful of pebbles. I leaned forward, showing them
to Rhan. They were all tiny but of varying shapes. They were as black as Rhan’s eyes, and each had a hole through its center.
I’d been gathering them daily when I walked along the bank of the lake and had been waiting for the right time to gift them
to Rhan.
Rhan peered into my palm. “They look like miniature seer stones.”
“That’s what I thought, too.” Druids sometimes used much larger versions of the pebbles in my hand to focus and look beyond into Annwn. I was glad Rhan saw the similarities. “Turn around. I’ll braid them into your hair.”
Rhan’s cheeks flushed bright pink. She lowered her voice. “Oh, no. That wouldn’t be appropriate.”
“Of course it would.” And then I realized that she had never spent cold winter days with the women of her tribe dressing each
other’s hair. Her mother had died when she was just a child. Addedomaros had not remarried, and then at fifteen Rhan had been
sent to Ynys M?n to train with the Druids—I did not imagine they had this particularly homey tradition on their isle. “Rhan,
my mother often dressed the hair of other women.”
“Yes, Rhan,” Ceri said, nodding. “Nain even braided Dafina’s hair.”
“When Dafina let her,” added Enfys.
“It’s appropriate. Today I’m not a queen. I am an Iceni woman.”
“Then I thank you, my qu—” Rhan caught herself and grinned. “Boudicca.”
Rhan’s blond hair was almost silver when it was wet. It dried quickly, smelling of rosemary as I combed it out and began braiding
the pebbles into the ends of it so that as she walked they would clink musically together.
I was so content and warmed by the fire and the mulled mead in my constantly refilled mug that I didn’t notice how late it
was until my daughters stood, yawned, and kissed me good night.
I blinked and looked around me as I finished placing the final pebble in Rhan’s hair. “When did the sun set?”
Wulffaed laughed as she walked past me carrying a tray laden with dirty dishes. “Some time ago, my queen. It is well past
the dinner hour.”
“But none of the warriors came for a meal,” I said.
“Naw, they took one look at this lodge packed with women and decided to find another hearthfire for the evening,” said Briallen
as she bowed to me. “’Twas a bonny day.”
“Yes, it was,” I said, smiling.
“On the morrow, then,” Briallen said. “I’ll see the bairns to their beds.” She followed the girls and their newly dry wolves from the cave.
“It was a lovely day,” said Rhan as she stood.
I snagged her wrist before she could leave. “Stay. Please. I wanted to talk with you about something.” I yawned and then laughed.
“Though it is later than I thought.”
“Or you’ve had more mead than you thought,” mumbled Wulffaed. She winked at me, bowed, and then took the final tray of dirty
dishes from the cave, followed by the last of her daughters. “’Tis snowing. Again. Get the fire in my chamber built up, Ravenna.
The chill is...” Her voice trailed away as the muffling snow swallowed her.
“She’s not wrong,” I said, grinning at Rhan. Then I turned to Phaedra, who had just ducked out of my bedchamber. “It’s been
a busy day, Phaedra. I can manage to put myself to bed.”
“Yes, my queen. There is more mead and some fresh bread and the herbed goat cheese you like so much in your chamber. Good
night.” Phaedra bowed and then retreated to the little room I’d had sectioned off for her, as her habit of sleeping at the
foot of my bed had become rather awkward the nights Maldwyn joined me there.
“Phaedra thinks of everything,” Rhan said as she followed me into my bedchamber and motioned to the pitcher of mead, two mugs,
and bread and cheese placed thoughtfully beside it. “Would you like some more mead?”
“Why not?”
“Why not indeed?” Rhan grinned and poured our mead, and then unlaced the back of my dress.
I sighed in pleasure as I stepped out of it, pulled off the heavy winter chemise, and replaced it with one of my soft sleep
shifts. Then I tossed a second sleep shift to Rhan, and clutching the mug of mead, I hurried into my bed and pulled the pelts
up around me. “You should put that on and stay with me tonight. Unless you want to go out in that snow.”
Rhan grimaced. “I’d much rather not.” Her dark eyes sparkled. “I think I’ve had more mead than usual, too.”
“Here, turn around. I’ll untie your laces.” Rhan did so and was soon out of her Druid’s robes. She pulled on my borrowed shift and curled beside me under the pelt, shivering as she sipped mead and regained the warmth we’d lost when we’d left the hearthfire.
I felt no rush to talk. Rhan and I were used to sharing companionable silences. I thought about how nice it was to have her
in my life again. I know it was selfish, but I was glad of the long winter. I would lose her after spring thawed the mountains
and we defeated the Romans. I would keep my word. The sacred oaks on Ynys M?n would be replanted. The Druids’ island would
thrive again under Rhan’s leadership—and she would no longer be at my side.
I shook off the sadness that followed that thought. Perhaps Rhan’s destiny would allow her to return to Tasceni. I hoped so,
but I also knew even a queen must bow to the will of the gods.
“I’ve been thinking of the gods.” My voice seemed loud in the silence between us, but Rhan only nodded, leaned past me to
put her empty mug on the little table beside my bed pallet, and then lay on her side facing me. When she said nothing, I continued.
“I miss Andraste’s shrine and our trips to care for her and leave offerings. Do you think the goddess would approve if we
created a new shrine to her here in the valley?”
Rhan’s fair brows lifted. “I believe she would. But I also believe the other tribes should be allowed to erect shrines to
their patron deities as well.”
I drained the last of my mead and placed the mug beside Rhan’s before I lay on my side to face her. “That would be lovely,
wouldn’t it? If our artists carved images of our patron goddesses and gods all around the valley.”
“Yes.” Rhan reached out and brushed the length of hair that had fallen across my eyes from my face. “That is a beautiful idea,
Boudicca.”
I closed my eyes as she continued to caress my hair. “I’m glad you think so. We’ll have to consider the best time to gather our artists so they can begin the carvings.” I opened my eyes. Her face was very near mine. “I don’t think I tell you often enough how very glad I am that you are here with me.”
“You don’t have to say it. I know.”
I gazed into her beautiful dark eyes. She was my oldest, dearest friend. Since I’d lost my mother, Rhan was the only person
left in this world who had been my companion in childhood. Love for her filled me with such intensity that I covered her hand
with mine, stilling it against my cheek. I felt her draw in a breath and hold it as my gaze moved from her eyes to her lips.
Had I noticed before how perfect they were? I did not think; I only felt. I leaned into Rhan and kissed her.
Rhan’s lips were like the petals on a flower—soft and sweet. Her body had gone very still and I almost pulled away, almost
apologized, but then she released her breath with a trembling sigh and parted her lips, deepening our kiss.
I explored her mouth, loving the warmth of her silky tongue and the pleasure that shivered through my body to pool deep within
me as we kissed. I wanted more. My hand found the curve of her waist and I pulled her closer to me so that our bodies pressed
together. She was smaller than me, delicate in my arms, but there was nothing delicate about her passion. She moaned against
my lips, whispering, “Yes... yes... yes...” Her nipples were taut against the soft shift and my mouth teased them through the gauzy fabric. Rhan arched, gasping with
pleasure.
I pulled back, just far enough so that I could watch her face as my hand moved to the hem of her shift and began sliding it
up. “Tell me to stop and I will,” I whispered as I caressed the smoothness of her thighs.
“Don’t ever stop,” she begged breathlessly.
The feel of her naked body against mine brought me such a wave of pleasure that it was my turn to gasp. She was hot and slick and we fitted together perfectly. I had never made love to a woman before that night, and the depth of my desire for her was an unexpected gift. I delighted in her body—in the scent and taste of her. It was so different from the pleasure I’d taken from Prasutagus or Maldwyn. Rhan’s pleasure seemed infinite, and because hers had no end, neither did mine. We brought each other to climax over and over, discovering secrets we had never shared before then. And as dawn crept into the lodge we finally slept, wrapped together as if our bodies had become one.