Boudicca

Chapter XLV

Just before twilight we approached a wide, murky river and I knew where we were. I’d crossed the river Mersey during my wedding

procession from Isurium to Tasceni and easily recognized the river as the boundary between the Cornovii and Brigantes tribes.

This time my crossing was so different from the first that it didn’t feel real. In truth, since we had left the valley behind

nothing felt real. We did not ferry the wide river. We avoided all settlements, and as the sun sank toward the horizon to

our left, we held tightly to our horses and swam the river, grateful that the bank was neither steep nor so muddy that our

horses were bogged down.

Shivering, we continued northward. Briallen and I were searching for a spot to camp—somewhere within a sheltering grove where

we could huddle for warmth, as lighting a fire in the territory of the queen who had betrayed us would not be wise—when Ceri

called to me.

“Mama, is that a stag?”

My youngest daughter pointed to a modest roundhouse situated in the middle of a cleared area we’d been skirting. There was

just enough light left to illuminate a tall standing stone before the home, on which was carved the head of a proud stag.

“It is,” I said as Briallen and I exchanged a glance.

“Brigantia told us to look for signs. The goddess would not misspeak,” said Briallen.

“Agreed.” I turned to the girls. “We will be safe here for the night. Come, girls. Keep Sunne and Mona close. All is well.”

If I spoke the words perhaps I would believe them, though the weight of the sword strapped to my back reassured me as we headed

to the roundhouse.

As we reached the standing stone, a middle-aged man and woman emerged. I lifted my hands, palms out, showing that I held no violent intent. “I see blessed Brigantia is the patron goddess of your home,” I said.

“She is, indeed,” said the man. He was tall and round with a sunlight-colored beard that was so long it rested on his barrel

chest. “As she is the goddess of Tribe Brigantes.”

I attempted a smile, but it felt more like a grimace. “Then in the goddess’s name I ask succor for my daughters, our companion,

and me for the night.” I paused, and then, hoping I was correct in believing that the saddlebags Rhan had packed contained

coin, added, “We can pay for a meal and a pallet. Have you a barn? That will do nicely.”

The woman moved from the man’s side. Staring up at me, she approached, stopping only when she reached Tan’s head. Her eyes

widened. “I know you,” she whispered. Abruptly, she turned to her husband. “Ecgbert, be a love and scatter fresh bedding in

the barn. I will feed them while their clothes dry by our hearthfire.” Her husband muttered but headed toward the rear of

their modest settlement. “Stay outside, mind!” she shouted after him. “Until I tell you they’re dried and dressed.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do out here in the dark?” Ecgbert grumbled.

“Build a fire outside the barn and it won’t be dark.” She sighed and added, “Get the last of the spring beer from the stream.

That’ll keep you happy while I tend to these poor travelers.”

“Oh, aye.” Ecgbert’s voice lifted with his quickened steps, and with much greater enthusiasm he hurried away.

“Come, come. You are welcome in my home.” The wife smiled up at me. “I’m Romilly.” As we slid stiffly from our horses, she

bowed. “And you are Queen Boudicca.”

My gaze snapped to hers, but before I could speak she added, “My husband is Parisi. He will not recognize you. But I am Brigantes and would know the Iceni queen born in our royal city anywhere. You led an army against Rome, and that is all I know except that you are safe here. On that you have my oath in the name of the goddess Brigantia.”

“May the goddess bless you for your kindness,” I said.

“I’ll tend to the horses and then join you,” said Briallen.

The girls and I followed Romilly into her roundhouse where she cared for us, helping us out of our soaked clothes, wrapping

us in blankets, and sitting us before the hearthfire as she heated slabs of pork and sliced fresh bread and cheese for us.

She even fed Sunne and Mona. Briallen joined us, carrying the heavy saddlebags, within which rested a purse of coins. And

then, while we ate, Romilly talked. She told us it was safest to stay west, as close to the coast as possible, while we slipped

through my old tribe’s territory. She spoke of the stories being told about me. How I’d united thousands of Britons against

the scourge of Rome. How I’d brought hope even to tribes allied with Rome, like the Brigantes. Enfys and Ceri listened with

sparkling eyes as Romilly spoke of my greatness.

I said nothing.

As the girls dressed in their warm, dry clothes, their eyelids went heavy. Briallen took Romilly to the side. I heard some

of their whispered conversation—enough to know my warrior told of our defeat through treachery. When Romilly turned to me,

tears streaked her cheeks.

Romilly led us to their barn, calling to her husband that he could return to the roundhouse. He staggered past us, too far

into his cups to truly see us. The barn was small and tidy. Two plow horses shared one large stall. Our four horses shared

the other two. Goats made nests in the straw and bleated softly as we entered but then settled quickly. Ecgbert had scattered

fresh straw for us in the only section of the barn not inhabited by goats or chickens.

“Queen Boudicca, I’m sorry that this...” She gestured around her at the barn.

“This is perfect,” I assured her. “Thank you.”

“I can keep my Ecgbert in bed until the sun is above the horizon,” Romilly said.

“We will be gone at dawn.” I went to the saddlebags Briallen had brought from the house. “There is coin here to pay you.” I reached into the heavy purse to extract payment.

Romilly was at my side in an instant. She touched my arm hesitantly and said, “No, Queen Boudicca. I cannot take your payment.

My home is blessed to have been chosen to succor you the day you need it the most. That is payment enough, as Brigantia’s

memory is long and she rewards her own.”

I bowed my head to her. “You have my gratitude, as well as the goddess’s.”

“And may blessed Brigantia guide you and keep you safe, great queen.” Romilly bowed deeply before she left the barn.

The girls were asleep almost immediately. I curled on one side of them. Briallen took first watch and would wake me when the

moon was high in the sky. She stood by the opening to the barn. Just outside, the fire Ecgbert had lit cast flickering shadows

over her, illuminating the strong line of her jaw and the stubborn set of her shoulders.

“Briallen?”

She turned to look at me.

“I am glad you are here with us,” I said.

She nodded, and I watched her blink rapidly as she struggled against tears before saying, “I’ll always be here, my queen.”

I didn’t correct her, just as I hadn’t corrected Romilly. Nothing felt real. It seemed I moved through a living dream—and

unending nightmare. My mind was as numb as my body. My spirit was broken. The babe within me kicked and I curled around her,

or him. Suddenly I wished very much that the child would be the girl her father had wanted so badly.

The image of Maldwyn skewered by a spear and falling from the chariot almost blinded me, and I realized that I could not see

because my eyes were filled with unshed tears.

I hope they are laughing and feasting with Andraste—Maldwyn, Rhan, Cadoc, Abertha, Phaedra, Wulffaed and all of her daughters

and granddaughters. Let them be together. Let them be free of fear and longing and pain. And let them save a place at the

goddess’s feast table for me.

I did not think I would sleep. Truth be told, I was afraid to close my eyes. Afraid that the images of this terrible day would play over and over across my closed lids. Afraid I would dream their deaths. I’d witnessed Maldwyn’s death. I’d watched Abertha fall. I did not want to see Cadoc breathe his last. I could not bear to watch Rhan die.

But weariness ruled my body and I could not keep my eyes open. As darkness closed around me, I whispered a prayer to Andraste.

Please don’t let me dream. Whether the goddess heard my prayer or not, I did not dream.

***

We left before dawn, fortified by sleep and the dried meat and bread Romilly had packed for us the night before, and a pattern

was set. Heading northwest, we avoided settlements, riding all day and only stopping to give the horses a break until twilight,

when, every night, just as the sun sank into the horizon, we would come upon a roundhouse or a small camp or a group of hunters

or traders returning from market. Each home or group was always marked by the goddesses with either a stag, a raven, or a

hare. Each welcomed us. Each recognized me.

At first that worried me, but soon it was obvious the goddesses had touched everyone with whom we came in contact. Maldwyn

had been correct. Just by surviving, I gave them hope, though with the dark news the people relayed to us it was difficult

for me to understand that hope.

My army had been destroyed.

Out of the three chiefs, only Mailcun lived.

The devastation of my people had ended the revolution. The monster that was Rome had swallowed my world and now ruled Britain.

The night I learned that Rome had declared their victory, I waited until my daughters slept before taking out the Roman pugio

Rhan had packed in my saddlebag—the same dagger the procurator Catus Decianus had used to cut my bloody bonds that day so

long ago in Tasceni.

I walked to the hearthfire that crackled in the center of the small roundhouse, decorated with carvings of hares, that succored us that night. Slowly, methodically, I lifted fistful after fistful of my waist-length hair and cut it, whispering through sobs each name as I dropped a hunk into the fire. Rhan, Maldwyn, Cadoc, Abertha, Wulffaed, Comux, Leofric, Addedomaros, Derwyn, Bryn, Arianell, Dafina, Phaedra... The names went on and on.

Briallen tried to stop me. I commanded her to leave me be. She did not. She could not. Instead she pried the dagger from my

fist and continued for me, cutting and cutting as I spoke a new name with each slice until my hair was so short it haloed

my head in fire and I finally ran out of names.

***

The word officially spoken by Paulinus was that I had poisoned first my daughters and then myself, effectively stopping him

from taking us to Rome to be paraded through the streets like slaves. But that was only the official word. Roman soldiers

had been commanded to find me and capture me alive. Any Briton who aided in my capture would be granted fertile lands and

riches. Any Roman who captured me would be rewarded with a villa in Rome. So under the guise of choking out the last of the

Iceni, Roman soldiers raided, sacked, and razed our lands, when in truth they were hunting me.

During the long days and weary nights, we traveled ever northward, passing through territory held by tribes whose names I

recognized but I had never known. Carvetii, Novantae, Damnonii, Caledonii, Cerones, and Carnonacae—all welcomed me. All knew

me. All kept us safe.

After traveling for a fortnight, I woke one clear early morning with my throat feeling as if I’d swallowed coals and my head

pounding. My skin was flushed and hot, but I shivered with cold.

“We are close,” said Briallen, guiding her horse beside Tan. “Can you continue?”

“The Romans could not stop me,” I said with an attempted smile. “A little illness will not.”

Briallen narrowed her eyes at me but said nothing.

At midday we came to a huge stone, white as snow, decorated with carvings of shaggy horned kine, massive swine, and curled-horned rams. Briallen kneed her horse to the stone and placed her palm against it. She bowed her head and whispered a prayer before looking at me.

“’Tis Beira’s Stone. It marks the edge of the Caereni tribal lands—the lands on which I was born. We made it, my queen.”

The girls squealed happily and began firing questions at Briallen, which she answered enthusiastically, though she kept glancing

sideways at me.

“I am well,” I assured her. “I just need rest.”

She grunted but said no more. I knew it wasn’t just the illness that worried her. I’d become a stranger. To her. To myself.

To the world through which I had to continue to move. I wanted to find myself again, but I’d lost my mooring. My land was

inhabited by the enemy. My people were either dead or scattered and in hiding. As I drifted north, I was unable to navigate

my life. I’d lost my present and future and could not live in the past. So I ceased living; I only existed.

***

The sun was sinking into the ocean as we entered Ulapul, the royal village of Tribe Caereni. Briallen and I rode next to one

another with the girls and their wolves trailing us. Even though I shivered with chills and my head ached, the excited chatter

of my daughters’ voices soothed me, as did the increasingly strong and constant movements of the babe I carried. When we’d

stopped to rest and water the horses, Briallen had told us we would come to her birth village that evening. I’d forced myself

to keep moving. I’d braided the girls’ hair and brushed dirt and stains from our travel-weary clothes, trying to make us look

more than we were—outcasts fleeing for our lives. As we entered Ulapul I was dizzy with fever, though not so ill that I didn’t

realize I needn’t have worried about how Tribe Caereni would perceive us. As soon as they caught sight of Briallen, she was

the focus.

“Briallen! She returns!”

The shout went up as we approached the roundhouse in the center of the village. From the open entrance a tall man with a shock of orange hair that matched his massive beard hurried from the lodge. He wore a thick golden torque decorated with the same horned kine image we’d seen on Beira’s Stone. Close behind him was a man I easily recognized as Briallen’s father, as he looked like an older version of her twin brother, Bryn.

Briallen and I dismounted and the girls followed us, though they didn’t approach the chief but remained by the horses with

their wolves. We’d learned during our fortnight-long trip that the wolves made almost everyone nervous.

Briallen bowed to the chief. “Calgacus, chief of Tribe Caereni, and his shield—”

“Come here, you bonny wee thing!” Briallen’s father, shield to the chief, interrupted her. Stepping up beside his smiling

chief, he opened his arms to his daughter. As she flung herself into his embrace he added, “Where is that dunderheid brother

of yours? Late, as usual?”

Briallen squeezed her father and then stepped back. “Bryn is dead, Father. He died protecting the Iceni queen against the

Romans.”

Her father’s face drained of color and his shoulders slumped. His chief rested a hand on his shoulder, saying, “Och, Colin,

it hurts my heart to hear of it.”

Colin nodded and swallowed. “We’ll tell your mum together.”

Then both men looked to me. I moved forward so that I stood beside Briallen. She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes and

continued with her interrupted introductions. “Calgacus, chief of Tribe Caereni, and his shield, my father, Colin, ’tis my

honor to introduce to you Herself—”

This time it was the chief who interrupted Briallen. “Boudicca, queen of the Iceni, Andraste’s Victory, and the woman who

united the southern tribes against the plague of Romans infesting those lands.” Calgacus moved to stand before me. He bowed

his head. “You are most welcome here, mighty queen.”

I met his eyes. They were a gray blue that matched the ocean. In a voice rough with illness I said, “I am queen no more. I

am but a woman asking for succor for herself and her two”—I paused and placed my hand over my rounding belly—“and soon three

children.”

His reply came with no hesitation. “Then know that Boudicca the woman and mother is as welcome in Caledonia as would be the queen of Britain. You are safe now. You may rest.”

Relief added to my fevered dizziness. I bowed in turn and intended to speak eloquently about my love for his shield’s daughter,

my despair at the death of her brother, and my appreciation for the sanctuary he offered, but I could not catch my breath.

My vision went black and then I fell.