Boudicca

Chapter XLVI

They thought I would lose the babe. I knew that but not much more for many days. Between fever dreams where Maldwyn died over

and over followed by Rhan leaping into his funeral pyre, I heard, as if from far away, women’s voices discussing whether my

child would live or die. She will live! I wanted to shout, but the dreams trapped me again and I could not speak. When my fever finally broke, my first words were,

“The babe? Is she...”

Briallen was at my side, bending over me. “The babe is well.”

“Enfys? Ceri?” I croaked.

“Och, the bairns are teaching their wolves to fish. All is well, my queen.”

I cleared my throat. “Don’t call me that.”

She raised a brow but said nothing and instead helped me gulp a cup of cool water. As I drank, my babe fluttered and then

kicked. Hard. Causing me to grimace.

“How long?” I asked.

“Three days. But you’re mending now, so all is truly well,” she said.

And as usual Briallen was right. I recovered quickly. Ulapul was situated on the coast, a thriving port village that was the gateway to the northwest and the rest of the coastal Caereni lands. Their hearty fish stew strengthened me, and soon I was able to join Calgacus and Colin on the practice field with the rest of the Caereni warriors. Though my babe continued to swell my stomach, I was determined to be useful. I refused to be treated like a deposed queen. At first Calgacus argued with me, but I easily found his weakness and prevailed. The Caereni bred garrons, small but sturdy horses they farmed with and rode into battle, but the tribe lacked chariots. When Calgacus and Colin understood that I could teach their blacksmiths how to make chariots that could be used over the rough Highlands and train their warriors as drivers, the chief relented, becoming more and more excited as the first chariots took shape and warriors

clamored to learn the skill of driving.

So I was useful. My babe grew steadily, moving strongly within me. My daughters thrived, and did teach their wolves how to

fish, much to the amusement and wonder of Tribe Caereni.

And still I was unmoored.

The tribe built a roundhouse for me near their herd of garrons. I enjoyed training the intelligent little horses, though I

often thought of Ennis and Finley. Almost as often as I thought of Maldwyn. I could not help it. Not with his child growing

within me. I thought of how much he would love working with the garrons and imagined his cornflower eyes shining as he spoke

soft words enticing them to trust him, love him. And they would. He had been easy to love.

I tried not to think of Rhan.

The Caereni had no Druid, though their healer had trained on Ynys M?n. I questioned Calgacus about other Druids in his tribal

territory and he answered with great sadness that he knew of not one in Caledonia.

I tried and failed not to think of Rhan.

***

The people of Tribe Caereni were strong and honest. Like Briallen and Bryn, they laughed easily and often. Famous for their

fishing skills and the intricate knot work created by their artists, the tribe was well respected and prosperous. The women

of the tribe welcomed me warmly. They even adopted the tradition of Arianell’s Day. I would never be Caereni, but I could

easily appreciate their tribal pride. It made me miss Tasceni deeply.

Ulapul was framed by rolling mountains, beautiful and craggy, covered with heather. I liked to explore them, finding some peace as I walked ancient sheep paths. It was on a ridge overlooking the village that I found a large rock shaped like a raven. As the babe grew and the days became shorter and colder, I took to daily walking the path to what I thought of as Andraste’s rock. I would leave offerings there to my goddess—brightly colored shells, feathers, bowls of milk and honey, choice pieces of succulent fried fish. I spoke to Andraste there, telling her the things I could not say to anyone else. How much I missed my life, my people, my home, my loves. How unmoored I continued to be. And how very much I wanted to know that she forgave me.

Andraste did not answer. She gave no sign. It was as if I’d never been her Victory.

I understood. Truly I did. I’d lost. The Romans had defeated me, and through me all of Britain. Only Caledonia was out of

their grasp, but every tribesman and -woman in the Highlands prepared. Rome would come. They always did. Perhaps Caledonia

would fall, too. I’d opened the door to their invasion when I’d failed Andraste. I could easily imagine the goddess’s disappointment

in me. It could not have been greater than the disappointment I felt in myself.

Samhain neared. Harvest was complete. Snow was in the air and whitening the mountains. I awakened early from a dream I could

not remember, but from which I woke speaking Andraste’s name. By now the babe was so large I could not get comfortable. Restlessly

I paced the roundhouse I shared with my daughters and Briallen. Then, not wanting to awaken them, I draped a heavy fur-lined

cloak around me, poured mead in a wooden bowl, and went out into a world turned gray. Fog had wafted in from the port, thick

and blanketing. I was glad I’d walked the path to Andraste’s rock so many times that I did not worry about finding my way,

even in the breath of the dragon.

The breath of the dragon...

I wished for my sword as a chill fingered down my spine and pain tightened my belly. I grimaced and rubbed where the babe

kicked against my rib. They’re just practice contractions, preparing me for the birth, and the fog is just fog—not the breath of a dragon, not sent

by Andraste—and there are no Romans hiding within it.

I took several long breaths and kept walking. It felt good to move, though I had to pause often as my stomach tightened. By the time I reached Andraste’s rock I could not deny that the pains were well beyond practice. The babe was coming. I didn’t fear the birth. Enfys and Ceri had been born with no problems. There was no reason for me to worry that this babe would not be the same.

Another wave of pain gripped me. I leaned against Andraste’s rock and forced myself to breathe deeply, steadily.

My mother isn’t here. She will not be here to comfort me during the birth. She will not be here to greet her newest grandchild.

This birth will not be the same as my other two .

Still I did not start back for the village. I leaned against Andraste’s rock, yearning for my mother and wishing for my goddess.

As the sun lifted over the horizon it burned off the fog and I was mesmerized by the colors that painted the sky. It was as

if I’d never seen such vibrant pinks and blues, yellows and oranges.

Then with a jolt I realized that I had seen those colors before—the last time I’d seen the breath of the dragon—in Annwn. My heartbeat thundered in my ears and my

hand found the part of the boulder that formed the raven’s beak. I caressed it as if it were alive. Had I been compelled here today?

Between contractions, I poured the bowl of mead around the boulder and then leaned against it again as another wave of pain

crested and broke over me. I wiped the damp hair from my face. Over the past several months it had grown, and now the ends

dusted my shoulders. I shook it back, wishing I’d thought to tie it up before I’d left. No matter. I should return and have

Briallen go for the healer.

I pushed off the rock, took a step, and liquid gushed from between my legs, followed by pain that clawed at me and took me

to my knees. Panting, I rode the wave and then tried to struggle to my feet, slipped in the bloody wetness that soaked the

ground beneath me, and fell hard on my knees, gasping at the jolt.

Another contraction threatened to drown me in pain, and my body bowed as I struggled to breathe. When it released me I was

too weak to stand. All I could do was shiver and pant with my face pressed against the wet ground.

A sob escaped my throat. And then another. And another. Before the next contraction pulled me under, I cried a single, beseeching word: “Andraste!”

Pain tunneled my vision. I made a guttural sound, more animal than human, as the contraction tore through my body.

I have to move. I have to get back to the village.

I tried to stand again and made it to my feet in time to hear wings flutter behind me. I turned to see a raven had perched

on Andraste’s rock. If I dared I could reach out and stroke its ebony beak as I had the rock moments before. Another contraction

engulfed me, and the strength in my legs dissolved. I fell to my knees again. Staring up at the raven, I panted through the

pain. When it released me I sobbed my agony to the creature.

“Tell Andraste I’m sorry! I ask that she forgive me. I know I failed her. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” My tears mixed with snot

and sweat. I rested my forehead against the rock, glad of its coolness.

“There is nothing to forgive, my Victory.”

With a gasp I looked up. Standing on the rock was the goddess. She wore a woad-blue dress embroidered with silver knots that

interlinked to form ravens. Her cloak was made of black feathers that glistened in the rising sun.

“Andraste!” I sobbed. “I’m so sorry. They’re dead. The Iceni. Our people. Because of me. They’re dead.”

“No, child. They are not dead because of you. They are dead because of betrayal and the greed of Rome. Neither was caused

by you, my Victory.”

“How can you call me that? I failed you. I wasn’t victorious. I lost. We lost. Britain is ruled by Rome.”

Andraste bent and brushed my sweat-soaked hair back from my face. “Oh, my darling, my Victory, you have not failed me. You planted a seed that will root and grow until it becomes mightier than the tallest sacred oak and spreads farther than even the grasses surrounding our Tasceni. And when finally that seed is harvested, it will sustain a nation, our nation. Britain will throw off the yoke of Rome and become mighty.” The goddess spread wide her arms so that the raven-wing cloak became a veil . “Behold!”

Through Andraste’s cloak, I saw the future. I witnessed how my country, my people, changed but survived and thrived. Generation

after generation stretched out before me, so different, and yet their spirit remained—strong and free.

When the vision faded I looked through tears up at Andraste. “But they will have forgotten you.”

The goddess smiled. “No. Every time they stand together, they remember me and embody you, my beloved Victory.” The goddess

bent and took my face between her hands. She kissed me as she had on that first day, like a mother, on my forehead, on each

cheek, and finally on my lips. Then she said, “To show my love for you, I shall gift you with the same—love.” Then the goddess

straightened, raised her arms to the sky, and with a wild cry became a raven that circled me three times before disappearing

into the eastern horizon.

I squinted as she seemed to fly into the rising sun, and then my eyes closed as I was engulfed in another tide of pain. When

it finally released me, I was dazed. Andraste had left me here, alone, to birth my child. I drew several long breaths, in

and out, trying to calm the panic that clawed at me along with the pain I knew would come again and again and again.

My gaze returned to the eastern horizon and I blinked. Wiped my eyes with my cloak and blinked again. Was it Andraste returned?

No.

It was a figure on a horse racing toward me. I realized two things at once. The horse was too large to be a garron, and it

seemed familiar.

It could not be. I was delirious with pain, and as I thought it another contraction flooded me, and this time I wanted to

push. I had to push.

“No!” I sobbed, fighting against the overwhelming need. “Not here!” I was struggling to stand again when the sound of the

horse’s pounding hooves returned my gaze to it.

I did know the horse. I couldn’t, but I did. The big gray stallion slid to a halt just feet from where I slumped against Andraste’s rock as his rider dropped from his back and closed the small space between us—and then I was in her embrace.

“Rhan!” My hands touched her face, her arms, her hands. She was there, and even though she had a pink scar that ran from her

cheekbone down to her neck, she was alive and whole.

“My beloved! How are you—”

Another contraction took control of my body. “The babe comes.” I managed to rasp the words before I could do nothing but bear

down and pant for breath.

“I’m here. I’m here.” Rhan shifted my body so that my back was pressed against the goddess’s rock for support again. She pulled

up the skirts of my dress and knelt between my legs. “I can see the head! The babe’s hair is red like yours! Push, Boudicca!”

I braced myself against the rock, stared down at my best friend, my love, and pushed. In a rush of wet, the babe was born,

sliding into Rhan’s hands as if they were what she had been waiting for.

“A girl! Maldwyn was right.” Rhan’s voice trembled with joy. “You and he have a daughter!”

“Arianell.” I spoke her name like a prayer as Rhan placed her on my chest. “Her name is Arianell.”

A shadow fell on us. Rhan glanced up and her face lit with wonder. “Look!”

My gaze lifted. Circling us, ravens darkened the sky, too many to count. As we watched them, Rhan took me and Arianell in

her arms and held us close, and through the ravens’ calling voices I heard my goddess speak.

“In blessed Arianell my Victory lives on...”