Stone Keeper

by Beth Webb

  Tegen’s head ached, but there was no escape.

  Boudica rose unsteadily to her feet and raised a mead horn. ‘To the arch-druid of the Winter Seas!’ she called out. ‘The men I sent to guard you told me everything. You’re a battle druid above all battle druids! I’ll command songs in your praise that’ll be sung for a thousand years. Come, sit by me!’ And she pulled a golden bracelet from her arm and pushed it over Tegen’s wrist.

  ‘We need music!’ Boudica yelled, clapping her hands. ‘Send in a bard!’

  With gritted teeth Tegen submitted to a kiss on the cheek. The gold felt like the grip of dead men’s fingers. She longed to fling it away, but she needed Boudica’s trust. If the queen could be persuaded to listen, then the revolt still might succeed.

  She mumbled thanks and shovelled food into her mouth as Boudica continued, ‘Tomorrow will be a great battle. Eat, drink and celebrate. Thanks to this woman at my side, Andraste has ensured we shall win! Their Goddess of Victory is already smashed before my feet. My chariot wheels will grind the town to dust with the morning light. To Andraste – the real Victory!’

  Everyone cheered. Despite herself, Tegen drank and the honey sweetness seeped into her aching body and mind.

  As the celebrations waned, Tegen rose, thanked the queen and went to her own tent.

  It was cold and damp. The chilly mist had crept through the oiled linen tent flaps and into her bedding. For a long time she shivered in the dark silence, then, without really knowing why, she pulled on her cloak and boots and went outside.

  The guard turned at the sound of her step. He raised his spear.

  ‘I’m Tegen the druid,’ she told him. ‘I need to cast spells.’

  He lowered his weapon and bowed his head.

  Guided by starlight, Tegen made her way across the open heath and around the outside of Camulodunum’s walls to the eastern gate. Keeping low between the gorse and scrub, Tegen watched the armed guards, silhouetted against bright watch fires. They stood staring out into the darkness. They had not heard her.

  To her right was the faint sound of water. Following the noise, she came to the river and followed it upstream until the black shape of a ramshackle building loomed ahead. To one side, the starlight showed a pale pony.

  Tegen hesitated. Why had she left the safety of camp and her bed? Was she just cold and lonely? The Owein that Tegen had once loved and cared for had been a good soul, whom she could trust with her life. What had happened to him? Why had he donned the toga? Was she here to rescue him?

  But Owein had never been the sort to need rescuing.

  The mare nickered softly as Tegen approached.

  No going back now, she told herself. Owein will have heard that. I won’t stay long. If he doesn’t have anything useful to say, I’ll just go. It’ll be easy to disappear in the night. Owein can’t follow with that gammy leg of his.

  She crept forward and rubbed her hands over the pony’s neck. ‘Hello, Heather old girl. How’ve you been?’ The mare pushed her velvet nose under Tegen’s chin. ‘I’ve come to see your master – I’ve got to know why he’s betrayed us all.’

  There was a shuffled step, then another.

  Tegen didn’t look up. What was she going to say?

  ‘Hello,’ Owein said softly. ‘I hoped you’d come.’

  His warm voice filled her with a squirming confusion of love and hatred. ‘I … don’t know why I did. You’re a collaborator and an oath breaker. I hope you die and come back as … as a toad!’ Tegen’s fury swelled in her throat. ‘No, wait, you’re already a toad. Well come back as a slug, then I can stamp on you!’ And she turned to go.

  Owein’s shadow stepped from the deeper darkness. His strong arms caught her. ‘You’ll do no such thing, at least not until we’ve talked. I thought you trusted me – I thought we were friends?’

  She tried to wriggle free, but his grip was too strong. ‘That was before you sold your soul to those thugs and murderers!’ She tried to spit but he put a hand over her mouth.

  ‘And you’re quite certain that everything Boudica does is clean and pure? And I suppose her thugs aren’t bent on slaughtering everyone, whatever their tribe or nation who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time?’

  Tegen shrugged. ‘This is war.’

  Owein sighed. ‘I’ve seen what Boudica can do. There’s not much to choose between Suetonius and your precious queen. Now come inside. There’s a chilly wind and we don’t want to get caught by spies.’

  ‘Whose?’ Tegen demanded, refusing to move.

  ‘Either.’ Owein sounded exasperated. ‘Well, if you don’t want to talk, what are you doing here?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she muttered as she followed him into the ramshackle mill. Everything was pitch black. ‘Perhaps I’m just curious how a good man can become a traitor?’

  Owein grabbed Tegen’s hand and led her to a slanting wooden beam. ‘Take a seat. Let’s at least give each other a chance, shall we? I presume there’s going to be an attack tomorrow?’

  ‘At dawn.’

  ‘I thought so,’ Owein replied. ‘We’ve just heard that the relief troops from Lindum were ambushed in a forest on the way here. We’ll be completely undefended.’

  ‘Then why did you tell everyone not to be afraid and go home?’ Tegen snarled. ‘At least I tried to scare them away!’

  ‘Oh, so that was what the ghostie-noises and statue-toppling theatrics were about?’

  ‘They weren’t theatrics! I was simply trying to warn people.’

  ‘There are simpler ways.’

  ‘So, what would happen if I stood up and told them straight? Boudica sent spies to follow me – they’d have slit my throat as soon as I opened my mouth. And would the good citizens have believed me anyway? Women have no standing in your wonderful new Roman society!’

  ‘You’re right,’ Owein replied. ‘The truth is, until now, the Roman officials have been confused as to Boudica’s motives. Spies have watched the tribes gathering for months, but they cannot understand why the warriors are bringing whole families and all their possessions with them. Is it war, or mass migration?’

  ‘It’s both in a way,’ Tegen replied, calmer now. ‘Many are planning to go north once it’s over. Those planning to return are scared to leave their loved ones undefended at home. Whether the British win or lose, there’ll be Roman repercussions – the warriors will come home to fly-blown corpses.’

  ‘That makes sense.’ Owein leaned close and whispered, ‘I guessed it was war and I’ve sent word to all the British homes to get out tonight.’

  ‘And the Roman families?’

  Owein’s dark shape shifted uncomfortably. ‘There’s nowhere for them to go. If they flee, they’ll be dead. If they stay they’ll be dead. Stores are being put into the temple of Claudius, where you were today – food, water, blankets. It’s a very strong building; it should withstand the onslaught. It’ll just be the elderly, women and children. All the men will have to fight.’

  Tegen was silent for a moment, then she asked, ‘And you? Who will you fight for?’

  Owein took a deep breath. ‘I have a fiancée now and she lives with her elderly father. I will have to do my best for them, it’s my moral duty. But I will never attack, only defend.’

  Tegen’s anger flared once more. She sprang to her feet. ‘Moral duty? What do you care about what’s right or wrong? Why are you working for those … those vermin anyway? What happened to you Owein? What happened to your vows to restore Sabrina as queen of the Dobunni and to keep up the fight for our sacred Land?’

  With difficulty, Owein also stood. His voice was level and cold. ‘When you left me at the burning of Sinodun, I was captured by the Romans. They knew who I was. I had a simple choice – either to serve them as I had been trained to do – or die. With Admidios dead, I could see working for the Romans would help our cause …’

  ‘Oh yes, I can see that!’ Tegen sneered, ‘A nice villa and a cosy Roman wifey to warm your bed? Very conveni
ent! Plenty of money, slaves and a nice pension when you’re old!’

  ‘I was going to say …’ Owein continued patiently, ‘an advantage for us British. I could make sure that laws were applied fairly and justly and explained in a way that our people can understand and relate to. I have also been spying for chieftain Daig of the Trinovantes and helping some of his people to escape. If it wasn’t for me, the lives of the British in Camulodunum would have been much, much worse!’

  ‘You sound like Admidios.’ She spat. ‘I should’ve known you’d have a good story all worked out!’

  Owein heaved from his good leg to his crutch. ‘Well, if you don’t care about the truth or about working together, then I’m off. Goodbye!’ He stomped out of the door, mounted Heather and pointed her nose towards the town gates.

  ‘Good riddance!’ Tegen muttered.

  Pulling her cloak around her, she set off for Boudica’s camp. With any luck she’d still get some sleep before dawn. The next day was going to be long and painful.

  Back in Camulodunum, Owein did not think about sleep. Instead he stabled his pony, then crept through the town, sliding quietly between the guards and nervous refugees.

  At last he hobbled up a flight of stone steps to an impressive house, knocked and was admitted. Inside he was greeted warmly by the grey-haired citizen he had accompanied in the square.

  Owein bowed his head. ‘Forgive the unseemly hour; this is urgent.’

  The old man smiled and slapped Owein on the back. ‘You’re always welcome. When you marry my daughter, this house shall be yours. Have some wine. Catch your breath. Will there be a battle?’

  Owein flopped in a chair and rested his aching leg. He accepted the drink, draining it in one go. ‘You must leave. The British are attacking at dawn. I expect you’ve heard the relief cohort from Colonia Lindensium was ambushed? None survived.’

  ‘I heard.’ The old man shook his head sadly. ‘But why should we flee? What can a woman and a few rabble peasants do to us?’

  Owein leaned on his crutch and stood. ‘Father in law,’ he said carefully, ‘The British women aren’t like your women, they are trained to war, and this one is exceptional. Camulodunum has no real defences and we’re guarded by a few elderly soldiers. Even if Boudica wasn’t anyone special, her “rabble” can still do severe damage. Because of her, many good men are now feeding carrion crows. Please, let me find somewhere safe for you and Claudia to hide until this all blows over. What do you say?’

  The old man laughed and patted Owein’s shoulder. ‘Son, many would say that Julius Claudius Metellus has lived too long already. I have commanded the twentieth legion in Deva, I have served in Gaul and Egypt; I’ve never run away yet. I’ll take what’s coming. The gods hold my life in their hands. What will be will be. But,’ he sighed, ‘I would like you to take my daughter and her slave to safety. Look after her well. Be a good husband to her. Vale.’

  He gripped Owein’s arm, and left the room.

  Just before dawn, Owein mounted Heather and led two more ponies, each laden with a rider and baggage. They made their way across the heath and along the muddy edges of the water until at long last they came to a shepherd’s hut.

  There, despite shrill female protestations, they made themselves as comfortable as they could, and waited.

  Dawn Attack

  In the deep blue of pre-dawn light, Boudica’s warriors crept around the town’s barricades, stealthily choosing hollows or patches of scrub to hide and wait for the signal. The soft clink of armour and weapons was scarcely audible above the first hints of dawn chorus.

  The eastern sky paled. Epona’s white coat almost shone with a light of its own as Tegen rode towards Camulodunum’s northern gate. Her heart drummed under her embroidered robes and Boudica’s bracelet weighed heavily on her arm.

  Tegen had risen early and completed as many rituals as she could think of. Then she found a grassy bank. There she sat, closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

  Using her new powers, she imagined the town’s street quite empty. Her mind’s eye saw a few guards, of course that was unavoidable, she told herself. Next came a battle. ‘It will be short,’ she whispered, ‘and afterwards there must be a cleansing fire, like at Samhain. That will make way for a new beginning.’

  Tegen stood, brushed herself down, and beckoned to her servant for Epona.

  Mounting, she rode towards the town and the red glow of the watchmen’s braziers. ‘Have I really done my best to warn people?’ she wondered. ‘Could I have sent secret messages? But how, and to whom?’

  Owein was right; she’d dabbled in theatrics. She should take up juggling, not druidry.

  She wished she’d tried harder to speak with Goban at Boudica’s stronghold; she shouldn’t have let herself be distracted. He’d have told her what to do.

  The morning sky was bleeding crimson. It was all too late now.

  Everyone was waiting for Tegen’s signal. Even Boudica.

  Ahead, the gateway was blocked with wooden planks. Behind it were terrified men and boys. Tegen could sense their fearful prayers. She could imagine their sweat, their shaking hands and dry mouths. Why had they stayed? Duty or love?

  She summoned up a picture of the last defenders fleeing, but the image was dull and flat. It was not a true seeing.

  ‘This magic must obey me. It’s got to …’ she whispered.

  On the eastern horizon, a tiny glimmer of golden light told her it was time. Tegen rode to the northern gate. There she dismounted.

  Holding a small yew branch high, she split the wood with her knife and tore it into two. Laying one piece each side of the road, she called out, ‘The way to Tir na nÓg is open. Warriors of the Goddess, I command you to become the cŵn annwn, the hounds of death. It is time to drive these unclean souls home!’

  And may their journey there be swift, safe and sure, she muttered under her breath. May they be reborn in happier times.

  She nodded to her servant who lifted a ram’s horn and gave three blasts. There were answering calls from all around the city, a thousand shouts and Boudica’s first wave of warriors swarmed down the hill with bloodcurdling cries.

  Just then, an arrow-flock of geese flew across the reddened sky. The billowing smoke from bonfires at the gates made them scatter, honking angrily.

  ‘That’s a good sign at least – the enemies will soon be dispersed,’ Tegen said.

  Closing her eyes, Tegen’s mind watched as Boudica’s warriors, hair limed and faces painted with woad, flung themselves on the defenders’ spears and gladii. Brave young boys with sharpened spikes stabbed at their enemies, but they were no match for the flood of full grown men and women who came on and on in relentless waves.

  I must end this slaughter quickly, Tegen thought, opening her eyes once more.

  She had chosen the northern gate because it symbolised stone and death. It was also on the lower slopes of the city. Behind her, the river ran seawards – a strong path for dying souls. She looked up at Camulodunum and imagined the great curved theatre walls and the red roof and white columns of the temple where the women and children were hiding.

  For now, they were safe.

  But their menfolk weren’t.

  Tegen straightened her back and tried to shut out the bellowing screams as the battle raged on only a few arrowshots away. ‘I must concentrate,’ she told herself as flashes of axes, slings and stones streamed into her head. Then she saw stumbling old men and wild-eyed grandsons fighting with anything that came to hand. Blocking, flinging, jabbing.

  On and on stormed Boudica’s warriors, breaking bone and ripping flesh.

  ‘May you all be safe in the arms of your gods,’ Tegen prayed, but her mind knew differently. She vomited and spat bile.

  She hated ‘seeing’. She was beginning to realise that Aodh’s magic of ‘imagining’ only applied to death and destruction.

  It was not a gift she relished, but now she had it, she must learn to control it and use it for good.

  Mor
e unbidden images swarmed into her mind – women and children dragged from basements, their throats cuts.

  Tegen clutched at her eyes. ‘No!’ she yelled. ‘Stop thinking like that and it won’t happen! Concentrate on the city being empty, imagine it – everyone fled, except maybe a few brave souls left to make a show. Imagine that and all will be well.‘

  But it was not so, and could not be so. Even her powers could not change what was already happening …

  The chilly dawn wind brought her back to her duty. Best to finish everything quickly. Tegen sighed and unhooked a basket from Epona’s saddle. Inside was everything she needed to perform the ritual she dreaded.

  She clicked her fingers and her servant boy placed a pot of hot charcoal and a bag of dried moss by her feet.

  The sun was warming the day, but Tegen’s teeth chattered as she drew a sacred circle with her staff. At the northern edge she placed a skull. In the east she tipped a little incense over the hot embers. For the south she placed a candle, flint and tinder, then in the west, she poured water into a silver bowl. Standing in the centre, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. This was her first real trial as battle druid. She must dance the Star Dance. She must not fail Britain.

  She imagined the countryside green, with crops growing and good weather. She saw plump, healthy children, happy parents and the elderly still strong enough to work. She thought of traders, visitors, and marriages with handsome men and women from other tribes and countries. That was good – that made stronger children and brought new skills.

  But no more invasions, no more death.

  Tears trickled down her face. The imagining was stiff and flat. Some things simply could never be.

  Tegen did not notice the thin wisp of early morning mist drifting across the heath land, but her mind heard the soft whisperings: Imagine the figures you made and crushed. Imagine death. Imagine fire! Make it come to pass.