Belis Before 2
Belis Before
She is nine years old and holding a spear for the first time.
For years she has been pestering her parents to let her train in the courtyard with the other youngsters.
Her father has tried to distract her with pony rides and new toys, but Belis will not be bribed.
She wants to be a warrior like her mother.
Eventually the king threw up his hands and ordered the carpenter to make her a practice spear, blunted at both ends.
On presenting the much-longed-for weapon to Belis, her mother warns her that this is not a toy.
“A spear is not just a weapon, it is a life, a duty. I had it carved from an oak tree that had stood for a hundred years. You must respect that, honour the strength of the oak when you fight. A warrior may wield it in war but must do so with purpose, with truth in their heart. To be a spear maiden is to understand when to stand down as much as when to fight.”
Belis nods, her brow furrowed in concentration. The queen stands before her, her long hair swept up in battle braids, her own spear in hand. She wears practice garments, deerskin leggings and vest, leaving her limbs free to move. She spins on a toe and strikes so hard that the air sizzles.
“I do not speak only of choosing your opponents with care,” Boudica says, twisting the spear above her head. “Any warrior with a scrap of honour knows not to attack the weak and the sick. I should not have to tell you that.”
She throws the spear and it flies through the air, thudding into the hitching post on the other side of the yard. She turns back to Belis.
“I speak of more cunning things. When to retreat and regroup, when to let an opponent think he has beaten you and concede. When to fight with all the strength and all the blood in your body.”
Belis grins, still clutching her practice spear. The queen smiles at her and suddenly the fierce warrior is gone and her mother is kneeling before her. One hand comes down to tuck back a loose curl.
“I know you will make me proud, little acorn.”
Belis practises for hours, striking, blocking, fighting opponents a year or two older than her. Her mother sits and watches as the weapons master drills her and the other children. Cati, now four summers old, has wandered out into the sunlight and flops to the ground at her mother’s feet.
Belis waves at her little sister and takes a spear butt to the chest. Sprawling in the dirt, she gasps for breath then scrambles back to her feet. She can feel her mother’s eyes on her and she forces herself to calm and reset to the basic defence position, feet in a wide stance, crouched low.
The weapons master is the one who struck her and he looks down approvingly.
“Don’t get distracted, Princess. But if you do take a fall, that’s the way to do it. Straight back on your feet. If you stay on the ground then you’ll never win.”
She nods and moves back towards her fellow trainees. The old warrior watches her go, tugging thoughtfully on his braided moustache.
“She’s got guts, your girl,” she hears him say to the queen. “Lacks a little focus but she’ll get there.”
Boudica doesn’t answer but out of the corner of her eye Belis can see a smile flicker across her face. She feels a swell of courage and pushes forward with renewed vigour.
The yard is filled with the clatter of wood on wood, of grunts and gasps and the occasional stifled sob. Belis feels the fading sun on her back and uses the evening glare to temporarily blind her adversary, knocking them down with a lucky blow.
The other child rolls on the floor and Belis reaches out a hand to help them back up. This is what she is made for, she thinks to herself, not clumsy embroidery or tilling the land. She is a spear maiden, wild and free.