by Beth Webb
For a long time after Sabrina left, Tegen stayed where she was, watching the sunlight playing on the river as it swept its lazy way around the stronghold mound. She longed to doze in the midday warmth, and to nibble the peppery cresses that grew at the water’s edge. She knew a rest would be good for both herself and the baby. Things were about to get very difficult indeed and there’d be little respite in the future – she had seen it.
But she was too agitated to sleep. She slid down the bank and paddled in the gravelly shallows, scattering dragonflies as she moved. She scooped up cool mud and started to play with it. Soon she had an array of little clay figures drying in the sun. She gave them reeds for spears and swords, and sticks with small leaves for standards. As she worked, her anger and grief slipped unnoticed through her fingers into the ranks of little soldiers, fully armed and staring up at Boudica’s longhouse.
Tegen’s words of peace slid away with the river, and thoughts of vengeance took their place.
As the sun begun to sink in the west, Tegen surveyed her handiwork.
Then it happened.
Hatred and grief overwhelmed her. Her throat tightened. She hacked a stick from a nearby willow and stripped away the side branches. Raising the switch above her head, she smashed it down, shattering her work, grinding her teeth and cursing.
‘Thus will you die! All of you!’
She raised her stick and struck again. ‘I hate the Romans, I DO!’ And with her bare feet she pulverised the figures back into the riverbed. ‘Mud you were and mud you shall be again!’ she cursed through clenched teeth. ‘May you rot in outer darkness! If you hadn’t come to conquer and steal, we would be at peace.
‘If you hadn’t come, my Tonn would still be alive!’
She slammed the stick so hard it flew from her grip and span away down river. Wading waist deep after it, she slapped at the water with her hands. ‘I demand vengeance!’ she sobbed.
‘This river will run red with Roman blood! So will it be!’ The final spell-seal was spoken.
Exhausted and panting, Tegen staggered and fell. Neck deep in the chilly water she sat for a long time, amazed at the strength of her vehemence.
Shivering, she made for the bank. ‘I must’ve been bottling all that up for ages – but I feel better now!’ She wrung out her hair and dress as best she could.
Deep down, her soul twisted into nasty, unpickable little knots, but her mind was whirling with the strength and potential of her powers.
‘I still have one more curse,’ she told the trees as she ran towards the longhouse. ‘I’ll bring vengeance on the druids for Tonn’s death – and do you know how I’m going to do it?’ she asked a wren that swooped across her path. ‘I’m going to do exactly what they asked of me: I’ll help Boudica however I can. I’ll strengthen her hatred and vengeance until she destroys everything – including herself! There’ll be death and destruction. But when it’s all over, the kites will pick the bones of British and Roman alike.
‘And the Land will be left in peace to rebuild itself.
‘There’ll be no druids, no Romans – just ordinary people getting on with their lives. ‘And I shall go to Ériu, have my child and forget everything!’
Tegen threw her wet shoes in the air, laughing as she caught them. She felt light and happy as she climbed the mound to Boudica’s stronghold.
All would be very well indeed, but not as anyone expected. This would be a Great Cleansing – like winter, before the New Beginning.
And she, Tegen, the Star Dancer and druid of the Winter Seas, would be the one to usher in …
The Time of Stone.
The Gift
Inside Boudica’s Longhouse, Tegen changed into dry clothes and lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Beyond the woven screen that gave her privacy, voices murmured over plans and plots.
Tegen’s head ached. She closed her eyes. If only she could sleep.
As the shadows lengthened, she thought about what she had done and began to cry. She wiped her eyes with muddy hands. ‘I let anger rule me – but allowing both sides to exhaust themselves is the only way to end this – isn’t it?’
At last she slept, but in her dreams a voice whispered: I have a gift for you, would you like it?
‘What is it?’ Tegen asked aloud.
Something you want. Very much.
Tegen remembered Angor using similar words when he gave her the leeches that destroyed Eiser. ‘Who are you and what is your gift?’
I am one who longs to see you become the most magnificent druid this land has ever known. I will give you the power to contain the horrors that are rising like a great tide on all sides. You will be a saviour.
‘And what is your price?’
Nothing. You merely have to ask.
Tegen imagined herself on a beach, arms raised towards the water. ‘Go back!’ she commanded. ‘This Land is sacred.’ And the sea obeyed.
But the waves were made of blood.
Tonn’s blood.
He was the Strong Wave that was meant to heal the Land. In her mind she saw his kind eyes and heard his lilting voice: Be careful Tegen, he said. You are not the Goddess – just her hands and feet for the little while you’re in this world. Don’t forget the web of magic – power is never for free. Don’t let my death be in vain.
She felt Tonn curl his cool fingers around hers and she felt stronger.
‘I promise, beloved,’ she answered. ‘This fire has to burn itself out, but I will try to bring hope to the people who are left.’
Then to the voice in her head, she replied, ‘No gifts, thank you. My task is to steer Britain through these evil times, not to rule.
‘The Land must heal itself.’
Camulodunum
Spying
The warriors set out at dawn. Tegen led the procession dressed in fine white robes. She’d allowed her face to be painted with ochre spirals and her hair spiked with lime. Between her breasts clinked talismans of each tribe’s deities. She would pray to them all for the peoples’ victory – whether they were real or not. Sitting tall and proud in Epona’s saddle, she smiled sadly as she thought of her plan.
Both sides would get what they longed for – and what they deserved.
That’s what magic was for – gaining ends. Who dared to say what was right and what was wrong? No one ever agreed; that’s why there were wars.
To bring peace, she must become a knife – deadly, amoral – and loaned to both sides.
Once Suetonius Paulinus and Boudica were dead, the Land would recover – and she’d be a mother with her own hearth in Ériu.
The morning was beautiful. The servant at Tegen’s side spoke little, leaving her to her thoughts.
Boudica rode ahead on her chariot, with Sabrina and Venutius alongside in theirs. Bronze fittings gleamed with red and blue enamel, and brightly painted reins guided the war-horses with their tossing manes. Behind them, the ranks of lesser nobles lead their bands of warriors. At the rear trundled baggage carts loaded with the elderly and infants who could not be left at home alone.
Tegen turned in her saddle. The endless stream of people, waggons, carts and chariots, wound its way between the hills and woodlands, back along the road as far as she could see. Spears, helmets and swords glinted in the sun. The road shook with the tramp of boots and hooves and the air was heavy with song.
The servant saw Tegen staring. ‘Seventeen thousand men, women and children so far, lady,’ he said. ‘We’ll collect more on the way.’
By the time Bel’s course was in the east, the army reached an open heath. Boudica’s chief steward called a halt.
‘But we’ve hardly come any distance,’ Tegen protested. ‘Can’t we ride further?’
The man shrugged. ‘It’ll be almost dark by the time the last stragglers arrive and cook a meal. Camulodunum isn’t far, but it’ll take five or six days because we’re so many. Suetonius is too far away to harass us, even if a rider was sent this morning, which I doubt, the town is ours!’ The
n he turned to organise the pitching of Tegen’s tent.
Frustrated, Tegen found fodder and water for Epona and watched the setting up of the camp. Although she longed to be on the move, she was weary. Carrying a child, even one that still didn’t show, was hard work. Spreading her cloak under a cart, she lay down and slept, ignoring the call to supper.
As her servant had predicted, the journey was slow, but at noon on the fifth day, they camped just below a rise.
Tegen walked a little ahead and saw Camulodunum nestling in the valley below. She recognised the strict pattern of a Roman garrison, softened here and there by the informality of civilian houses and shops. In the centre rose a vast building, its terracotta roof supported by white columns. Next to it ran a sweeping, curved wall. Although too far away to be sure, it looked like the circus where she had danced for the Romans and Sabrina had fought as a gladiatorix.
Tegen strolled away from camp and chose a sheep-path, avoiding the fields and settlements scattered on the higher slopes. Apart from the fact that many of the farms boasted new rectangular buildings with tiled roofs, all seemed normal.
The hedges were cut and tidy, the fields had been harvested and some had even been ploughed. Crab apple trees hung heavy with ripe fruit and brambles still carried fat purple berries.
Then, on the hillside opposite, Tegen spotted movement. Two grey-haired men were crouched by a wall, scanning the heath and Boudica’s camp.
Tegen slid behind a gorse bush and waited for them to go. So, Camulodunum wasn’t entirely asleep. The men looked too old to offer much of a threat in battle and Tegen sensed their fear as they trudged back towards the town. She glanced at the sky. There were many hand-spans of daylight left. Plenty of time for what she needed to do.
Back at camp, she washed and changed into a brown dress and shawl. Taking a basket of herbs she made her way to Boudica’s tent where the queen was huddled over a sand-map with her advisors.
Tegen watched. I will support Boudica, I will give her my all, she vowed silently, but she must die before she destroys Britain. She is so full of venom she will poison herself in the end. And I am glad. She deserves it!
Then Tegen noticed Oriana and Megan huddled on a rug at the back of the tent.
But I will try to save her children, she promised, laying her hand on her own belly. They’ve suffered enough.
Just then, the queen looked up. ‘Ah, my druid, will you join us?’ She smiled, but without warmth.
Tegen shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I wanted to tell you I’m going down to Camulodunum. I need to know about their temples and gods and to discover what spirits they may have arraigned against us. I need to put my own spells in place to make the taking of the town easier.
Sabrina jumped to her feet. ‘I’ll come with you.’
Tegen shook her head. ‘No. Thank you, but this is secret magic. I need to be alone.’
‘But you can’t go unguarded,’ complained Daig. ‘We’ll send warriors with you at least.’
Tegen was adamant. ‘If I have guards, it’ll be plain that I’m a spy.’ She held out her basket. ‘Dressed like this, they’ll only see a herb seller.’ Then she ran from the tent. She had no idea why she needed to be alone so badly, but she did.
At a signal from Boudica, two men followed her.
Pulling her shawl over her too-short hair, Tegen chose the road to the west gate of the town. Boudica was right – it was undefended. There was a shallow ditch that ran around the perimeter and a temporary-looking palisade; strong enough to deter wild animals, but that was all.
Nervous urgency crackled in the air. Men and women were stacking thorn bushes against the flimsy stockade and children were gathering pebbles for slings.
Just then, a group of boys passed her, carrying bundles of spear-length ash and hazel saplings.
The gates stood open and a steady trickle of handcarts and waggons were leaving the town loaded with household goods, women and children.
Tegen resisted the urge to curse them as she approached the gate. None of this is their fault, and we’ll need to build a new population, she told herself. They may be Roman or British now, but we’ll all be one tribe in the end.
Just then, two guards raised their spears and blocked Tegen’s way. ‘Where do’ye think you’re going?’ one snarled in reasonable British. ‘Don’t recognise you.’
Slipping her hand into her pouch, Tegen touched her stone egg. Help me now, she prayed. I must get inside.
She bowed to the men. ‘Sirs, I’m Mirna, a herbalist.’ She smiled sweetly.
‘Not a good time for selling,’ the other one jerked his head towards the hills. ‘Trouble brewing, see? Now run along home like a good girl.’
Tegen took a big breath and a bigger gamble. ‘Claudius Metellus’ daughter summoned me.’ She tapped her basket. ‘Poor girl’s got stomach cramps something awful. I’ve got her tisanes here.’
The guards exchanged glances and nodded. ‘Very well. Do you know the house?’
Tegen peered around as if looking for someone. ‘I was told a slave would meet me.’
The first man pointed along the road that led from the gate into the heart of the town. ‘Straight along there, you’ll see the temple on the left and the house of Metellus is to the right. Anyone’ll show you. But don’t stay long, that rabble on the hill look angry. Not that they’re any match for our soldiers!’
Then he snapped to attention and saluted as a young man in a toga rode past on a cream-coloured pony.
The rider turned and stared at Tegen, but she ignored him.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled flirtatiously at the soldiers. Behind their hard eyes there was fear and weariness. Neither of them was young. If they were the best that Camulodunum offered, Boudica’s battle would be easy.
If only they didn’t have to die.
She strode past them into a long, straight street of open-fronted shops, but few were trading. A man was selling sheep’s milk from a barrel on a cart. Tegen bought a beaker-full and sat on a bench to drink. Up and down the street, worried looking citizens were erecting barricades or scurrying towards the gate clutching bundles and babies.
To be able to cast her best spells and bring about defeat, Tegen needed to understand who these people were and why they were here. As she watched, she found she could not distinguish between Roman and Briton. Children with blond and dark hair played together in the late summer sun. The few soldiers striding past weren’t all dark and long-nosed. The civilian men were old or war-wounded, slow and infirm. The women were just women, some pregnant like herself.
Was it right to destroy these undefended people? Once again she regretted the spells and vows she had made by the river.
Just then a voice called her name. Tegen looked up.
There was Ula, smiling, but with a fresh bruise on her face. ‘I’m so pleased to see you.’ She gave a little bow. ‘Madam’ll be pleased as well. Shall I take you to her? Our house isn’t far …’
Tegen looked at Ula’s cheek and anger welled up inside her. ‘She’s hit you again?’
Ula laughed. ‘Oh no, I tripped. It was my fault entirely.’
‘You can tell me the truth.’
‘Honestly …’
Tegen pursed her lips. Why was she covering up for Claudia? These Romans weren’t human – they were monsters. They had to be got rid of, exterminated like rats!
‘Will you come?’ Ula gestured along the street to a fine house at the far end.
‘No, thank you.’ Tegen daren’t get involved with them again. Not now. ‘I’m on an errand. Do you have time to sit and drink milk with me?’
‘I’m in a hurry too,’ Ula replied with genuine excitement. ‘Claudia’s new husband has arrived and they’re to be betrothed tonight. We have a feast to prepare – if I can find any shops open, that is!’
Tegen’s mind was in turmoil. How do I tell Ula to get out of the town? She wondered. What if she’s faithful to Claudia, even after all the abuse?
Tegen
smiled. ‘If … if you can, slip away for a while before dawn tomorrow, maybe go for a walk in the hills? It’ll be good for you. Give your mistress my greetings and tell her I send my blessings for her future happiness. Farewell.’
Before Ula could reply, Tegen got up to go. Her conscience roared at her. What happiness? What future? There were some good people in the city. Could she do nothing to help them without betraying Boudica’s army? Were they all doomed, good and bad?
Tegen grabbed her basket and ran, pushing her way through the crowded streets. Who was good and who was evil? Who had a right to live, and who to die? Who was she to decide anyway?
At last she came to an open square. All along one side were wide steps leading to the white columned building she’d seen from the hill. It had to be the temple.
In front, high on a pedestal, stood a white-skinned woman with vast spreading wings and arms outstretched towards the city. Tegen stood agape. It could almost have been Boudica … but she wore only a loose shift … and why was she all white? Why didn’t she move? Was she a goddess?
‘Hello?’ Tegen ventured.
No response.
None of the passers-by seemed to take any notice of her at all. Gingerly Tegen sidled closer and placed one hand on the woman’s foot. She was made of stone, superbly crafted yet so very, very nearly alive. Tegen shuddered.
An old man surreptitiously spat against the base.
‘Excuse me, what is this?’ Tegen asked.
He made the sign against the evil eye and muttered, ‘They call it “Victory”! Phah!’ Then he leaned closer to Tegen’s ear and whispered, ‘It’s said that she is just over the hill. When she comes, we’ll be free again. We’ll show ‘em what “Victory” looks like. She won’t let us down. By tomorrow, us slaves’ll be proud to be British once more!’ And he straightened his old back.
