Stone Keeper

by Beth Webb

  On the other hand, Ula’s story filled her with rage. For the first time, Tegen was glad she’d been sent to be Boudica’s battle druid. She’d ensure justice for those who’d suffered because the Goddess was asleep – or dead.

  Since Tonn’s death, nothing made any sense.

  Tegen looked out at the rain-drenched road and fields beyond the inn. Morning sun bathed everything in gold and shivered the air above the distant marshes. The speedwell-blue sky was noisy with birdsong and dotted with white clouds scurrying eastwards.

  The morning looked so serene.

  Tegen pressed her hot forehead against the metal grill across the wind-eye. Her thoughts were in turmoil. Why don’t I just run away now? she asked herself. Epona can’t be far. I might get past the guards with a spell.

  ‘I think – something’s telling me to stay.’ She stroked her belly. Her pregnancy didn’t show, but it made her weary and she was still vomiting in the mornings.

  ‘Or maybe,’ she whispered to herself, ‘I’m just exhausted. I need friendship – even if it is only for a day or so, and from a slave and foul-tempered Roman girl.’

  Boudica

  On a low hill hidden by high reeds and treacherous marshes, a fire sent sparks and dark ashes dancing into the glowering sky.

  Boudica was pleased; at last she had a war council she could rely on. Four tribes had sent their leaders: Venutius, the deposed king of the northern Brigantes who was also her uncle, three chieftains and a spell-caster from the Trinovantes whose territory bordered the Iceni lands to the south. Half a dozen weary-looking men from the Catuvellauni had joined them and, most heartening of all, Sabrina, queen of the Dobunni had sworn loyalty.

  In all, there were twenty worthy men and women gathered around her, swatting mosquitoes and talking loudly above the evening chorus of frogs and crickets.

  Servants brought dishes of roast waterfowl and baked fish to the tables, followed by heaped bowls of steaming bulrush roots and barley loaves. Torchlight danced on the queen’s golden torc as she took her place with her guests. Tossing back her waist-length plaits, she raised her drinking horn and saluted the company.

  ‘Welcome to my island of council. Here we may talk openly without fear of betrayal. When my new druid arrives, we’ll have our discussions in earnest. Meanwhile, eat, drink and be exceedingly merry.’

  Everyone cheered and a servant refilled the ale pots.

  Sabrina covered hers with her hand. ‘Is heavy drinking wise, sister? Shouldn’t we keep our heads clear?’

  Boudica wasn’t used to being contradicted. She glared at the Dobunni queen. ‘Strong drink puts strength in our hearts. We need it.’

  ‘That’s right!’ several voices yelled.

  Sabrina stood, her dark hair like a summer storm. ‘Ale puts anger into warriors’ heads. Tonight we must put all quarreling aside. Solidarity is our only hope!’

  Venutius poured half of his drink into Sabrina’s pot. ‘C’mon girl, we need some fun. We’ve all fought long and travelled far.’

  Sabrina pointed at Megan and Oriana eating huddled in the shadows. ‘We must win this fight. Drink will only make us piss and vomit. For your daughter’s sakes we must be sober – and united.’

  Venutius gripped Sabrina’s elbow and pulled her down. ‘Yes, my lady, and if my children had been raped by Roman slaves, my blood would boil too. Tomorrow, we’ll be wise. Tonight we’ll get drunk.’

  Boudica stabbed the roast heron in front of her. Steaming juices trickled down her knife as she hacked two slices off the breast and dropped one in front of her uncle, and the other before Sabrina. ‘We already have unity. Now eat!’ she ordered, looking from face to face in the torchlight. ‘All of you – you’ll need your strength.’

  ‘So will you, my Lady,’ her uncle replied with concern. He pushed a basket of bread towards her.

  She ignored him, but took her ale and limped across the damp grass. Her back still stung from ulcerated wounds – nine months after the flogging. She squatted next to her children. The firelight scarcely reached them and they stuffed their mouths as if they might have to run at any moment. Megan and Oriana were now so terrified of men they’d never look up, even if an old friend came near.

  Boudica stroked their dark hair. ‘All shall be well, my little birds,’ she sighed, wishing she could believe her own words.

  When the meal was over, Boudica sat chewing the meat from a bone and surveying her guests now slumped over the tables, snoring in their own vomit. Was Sabrina right? Should they be as sober and controlled as the Romans? They all needed courage if they stood a chance of winning. Strong drink made the weakest warrior brave.

  She closed her eyes and lay along her bench. The time for vengeance was very near.

  In her mind she counted her stocks of spears and swords. They’d all been made in secret, for the Romans only allowed one eating knife each – not even a boar spear on pain of death.

  Boudica had always told her husband the Romans weren’t to be trusted. ‘You don’t understand politics!’ Prasutagus laughed as he ran his hands through his hoards of Roman-gifted silver.

  ‘Neither do you!’ she’d retorted. And she’d been proved right. The Iceni had been faithful for twelve long years. Now they were being treated like mutinous slaves, and all because of a will!

  He’d thought he’d been so clever, bequeathing half his kingdom to Nero. ‘That will appease the Emperor,’ he’d promised, ‘he’ll leave you in peace. But just in case, I’ll give the other half to our girls. You can handfast them to strong chieftains when they come of age and the Iceni will be safe. If I leave everything to you and the girls aren’t old enough to lead the tribe or to marry by the time you die, then everything will be lost.’

  That memory seared Boudica’s mind. She flung the bone aside and jumped to her feet. Striding up and down, her mind churned. How could her stupid husband have trusted Catus Decianus? Why had he died and left her to sort out the mess?

  She fingered the delicate designs on her ancient golden torc. It lay heavy about her neck – like her leadership. She’d show the foreign bastards that British women weren’t to be ignored or abused. She would have vengeance!

  And she would give anything … anything to win.

  She swigged from her ale horn and walked out to the mud bank where she’d met the hideous soothsayer. He’d looked more dead than alive. She shuddered as she recalled the way his eyeballs rolled back as he wheezed: ‘Take … my spirit in … to yourself. Control … druid’s powers … Win victory.’

  She hadn’t trusted the creature, but he had warned her the girls were in danger once more. Would his spirit really help?

  Last Beltane she had sent a messenger to Mona to beg for a battle druid to stand at her side. The man had returned with news that the white-robes had been slaughtered. He’d said a few had escaped and one was even now riding to stand at her side. An important one – with a title.

  ‘I’ll make up my own mind about this druid when he arrives.’ She decided. ‘The soothsayer could have been mad – or setting a trap.’

  Blessings

  At dawn, Tegen was woken by Claudia yelling at Ula to get packed. Slaves brought fruit, bread, oil and cheese, and the three girls ate hurriedly. Messengers had come in the night from Julius Claudius Metellus. He had sent a new escort to relieve the men from the IX Hispaniola who had brought Claudia from Deva. He wanted to know why his daughter was being so slow and demanded her presence with him in Camulodunum immediately.

  Tegen had been glad of the rest and good food, but she was relieved to be on her way again. Quietly, she packed her things, then poured a little leftover breakfast oil into a jar of crushed herbs and stoppered it. She took it to Claudia who was reclining on the dining couch, complaining of a headache.

  ‘Use a little of this on your face every night. In about two moons your skin will look paler so you won’t need your old make-up. I’ve shown Ula how to prepare it.’

  ‘She’s useless!’ Claudia rolled her ey
es. ‘I wouldn’t trust her with anything!’

  Tegen pushed Claudia’s feet aside and sat next to her. ‘I would!’ she replied firmly. ‘Ula is a good girl, she works hard and tries to please.’

  ‘How dare you have an opinion about my slave?’ Claudia raised her hand to strike.

  Tegen narrowed her eyes. ‘Ula is the nearest thing you have to a friend in this land. You’re frightened and lonely. You need her. And furthermore,’ she took a deep breath. Dare she say what was in her mind? She may betray herself as a druid – but the words spilled out anyway.

  ‘Furthermore, one day Ula will save your life, I have seen it.’

  Claudia stared open-mouthed.

  Tegen stood. ‘Now, I’m going out to find the remedy for your lead poisoning. I’ll be back very soon, and if you have to leave before I return, I’ll find you on the road. If Ula has fresh marks on her face or arms, I won’t give it to you. Is that understood?’

  Claudia nodded. ‘Yes,’ she murmured.

  ‘Good.’ Tegen snatched up a basket. ‘I’m borrowing this. I’ll see you later.’ With that, she stormed out of the door and let it slam behind her.

  Ula tried to hide a smile as she wrapped her mistress in a cloak.

  Relishing her freedom, Tegen ran down the low hill to the surrounding marshes where she cut several slices of peat and squeezed them dry. When her basket was full, she returned to the inn. Outside the gates, Claudia had settled in her litter, but was waiting for her baggage to be loaded.

  When she saw Tegen returning, she sat up and pulled the curtains wide. ‘Have you got it?’ she asked, a little more politely than usual.

  Tegen presented the dripping basket. ‘You may not like this, but it does work.’

  Claudia peered at the soggy mass of dark brown peat. ‘Yuck!’ she sneered, pushing it away. ‘I’m not eating mud!’

  ‘It’s not mud,’ Tegen replied. ‘My father was a silver and lead worker, he used to chew a little of this every day. We all did. Look!’ She tore off a piece and put it into her mouth. ‘It doesn’t taste too bad. The mosses trap the evil spirits then you spit everything out. Try it. You’ll feel better in half a moon, I promise.’

  ‘Oh very well. Give it to Ula.’

  Just then, the captain of escort stepped forward and saluted, speaking to Claudia in Latin. She nodded and replied.

  ‘He says we must hurry.’ Then she added with a half smile, the first Tegen had seen, ‘He doesn’t want you to travel with us. He doesn’t trust you.’ She hesitated, then added, ‘I know we’re on different sides, but I hope, if we ever meet again, that we’ll be friends?’

  Tegen closed her eyes, then replied, ‘I think we shall. May the road rise to meet you!’

  The slaves pulled the litter straps onto their shoulders and marched past Tegen, Claudia’s thin hand waved from between the curtains, then pulled them shut.

  The soldiers and the baggage cart trundled past, leaving Ula with her veil pulled low over her forehead. She bowed to Tegen. ‘A blessing, lady?’ she begged.

  Tegen glanced at the retreating party to make sure no one was watching them. ‘Tell me first, what these scars are on your face?’

  Ula pushed back her hair and revealed the dark red marks. They formed the letters, FUG.

  ‘What is that?’ Tegen asked, ‘I don’t read.’

  ‘It means I’m a fugitive,’ Ula replied. ‘I ran away. Branding was part of my punishment.’

  Tegen touched the scars, tracing the letters. ‘One day, you will be free.’

  At that moment, Claudia’s screeching yells for her slave made Ula gather her skirts and run. ‘Thank you,’ she called back, her eyes bright.

  Breathing the fresh morning air, Tegen guided Epona away from the Roman roads and Lindum, then southeast across the flat landscape. Together, they squelched the lonely paths across the marshes, trudging through hissing forests of rushes, resting on small islets inhabited by chattering reed buntings and statuesque herons. The sun rose higher, and then began to sink. They were getting nowhere.

  Weariness dragged at Tegen’s body and soul. ‘The Iceni lands can’t be far, I’ll be with Boudica soon,’ she told herself firmly. Her back ached. ‘I don’t know if I’m really up to being a battle druid, I hope the fighting’s over before the baby’s bump shows.’ She tugged at the front of her white robe. ‘When the weather gets colder I can wear shawls and overdresses. No one will notice. I’ll fulfil my destiny as the Star Dancer and send the Romans away forever. Then I can rest.’

  She closed her eyes at the delicious thought. She loved Epona, but riding all day was wearisome – for them both.

  Two days later, Tegen chose an ancient muddy trackway that snaked between small fields. Everything had been harvested a moon before and the furrows lay darkly waterlogged after the rain.

  With a surge of joy, Tegen spread her arms and proclaimed to the muddy fens, ‘This land may not be the sacred body of a goddess, but it is beautiful! I will fight, I promise I will.’

  Her shout scared a lapwing in her path. Epona stumbled and Tegen slid off sideways. ‘Oh dear,’ she groaned as she picked herself up, ‘Gronw would tell me off for being noisy, but sometimes I just have to shout. When I go to Ériu I’ll dance and sing and be really happy. I’ll deserve that when this is over.’

  The only answer was a straggling arrow of honking geese flying eastwards against the grey washed skies. ‘I know,’ Tegen sighed, ‘I’ve work to do before I think of having a home. I’m coming. I only rested at the inn for a short while – because of my baby.’

  By noon she could see where low hills rose beyond the fens. Boudica’s armies were gathering somewhere there – but how would she find them? The interminable marshes were impassable. Way-finding magic had never been Tegen’s strong point.

  She asked directions from eel fishermen and bird trappers. Some were helpful, others slid away between the towering reeds, quicker than otters. Tegen didn’t blame them. They weren’t to know which side she was on. Just because she was dressed in druid’s white proved nothing. Neither could she be sure whom they served – willingly or otherwise. She dared not betray Boudica by asking too many questions, so she thanked those who offered help and made her way forward on foot, leading her mare along rickety trackways that disappeared into quagmires as often as they led to lonely settlements.

  For three more days, Tegen and Epona pushed onwards, suffering leech and gnat bites. They cut themselves on the buff-coloured rushes that hissed and swayed above their heads. Now and then, soft splashes hinted at unseen creatures hopping and slithering out of their way.

  Tegen’s boots were wet, her skin itched and her hair was tangled.

  At last they reached a small rise covered in scrub oak. Tegen could go no further. She dismounted and let Epona graze. Exhaustion and despair washed over her until she fell asleep in the late summer sun.

  A twig cracked nearby. Tegen’s heart thumped. She opened her eyes and saw a pair of boots at her side. British boots made of heavy leather tied with thongs and caked with mud. By the right foot was the point of a heavy spear.

  Without moving, she said, ‘Good day,’ in a quiet voice.

  ‘Stand up!’ a man replied, pressing the spearhead into her shoulder. She obeyed and looked into the face of a warrior – weary, grey, and scarred.

  ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’ he demanded.

  ‘I am Tegen of the Winter Seas, from the Dobunni tribe in the west.’ She took a deep breath, ‘and I am a druid seeking Queen Boudica.’

  ‘Oh are you?’ he sneered. Pushing two filthy fingers into his mouth, he gave an ear-splitting whistle. Epona whinnied and sidestepped as three men and a woman slid out between the reeds, swords and knives at the ready.

  The woman took Epona’s rein and started to lead her away. ‘Hey!’ Tegen protested, ‘You can’t take my horse!’

  ‘No good where you’re going!’ she growled.

  Then everything went dark as a sack was thrown over Tegen’s h
ead. It had been used for flour and made her sneeze, but she could breathe and see specks of light.

  Strong hands took her shoulders and steered her downhill, where peaty mud sucked at her feet. She sensed fear and suspicion rather than outright hostility from her captors, so she didn’t struggle. She needed to listen and think, rather than to lash out with power.

  Her instincts told her they were Iceni, rather than Roman spies. She prayed she was right and that they’d take her to Boudica. I’ll wait and see what happens, she thought. If I smell treachery, I’ll do something. They haven’t tied my hands so they aren’t afraid of me. The hood must be for secrecy.

  Just then, strong fingers grabbed her elbow. ‘There’s a coracle by your feet,’ said a voice, ‘Step forward.’ Tegen did as she was told. The little craft rocked and hands pressed her down. ‘Sit. Don’t move, or you’ll have us over!’

  Tegen settled on a rough woven framework of hazels covered by tarry hide. The boat rocked away from the edge and swayed into the current of a small river. By the steady splash and tug, Tegen could tell someone was poling, rather than rowing, the little craft along.

  ‘Where is my horse?’ she asked.

  ‘She’ll be safe.’

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘Somewhere.’

  Tegen sighed and made herself more comfortable. At last the boatman called with the rising notes of a snipe, and was answered by a fox’s bark. The coracle bumped and scraped against a bank, then Tegen was hauled out and marched uphill.

  The hood was pulled off; she blinked and rubbed her eyes. A low mist drifted between the rushes and scrub. With a quick gesture, Tegen wove a spirit shield around herself. The islet did not feel safe.

  The warriors marched her up a muddy path to a circle of huts. In the middle were three large trestle tables around which a group of British nobles and warriors were seated.