by Beth Webb
With a heavy heart, Tegen walked back to the waggon she shared with Ula and Claudia and packed her bag. ‘You two must leave the camp, now, tonight. Things are becoming very dangerous. Travel back the way we’ve come and take the southwest turning. Go to a British settlement called Sul’s Land, where hot springs bubble up from the mud. The first house inside the palisade on the southern side belongs to my friends Alawn and his woman. Ask if you can stay with them until I come.’
Ula started to pack, but Claudia hung back. ‘Why now?’ she moaned, ‘it’s dark … There might be wolves. I can’t go out there alone.’
Tegen tutted and rolled her eyes. ‘You won’t be alone. Don’t you remember I told you Ula will save your life? Tonight will be the first of many times.’
Claudia shook her head. ‘But I haven’t eaten yet and it’s cold outside. I’ll go after sunrise.’
Tegen stared at Claudia. ‘There’ll be no escape in the morning. You will be dead before nightfall. What fate you choose is up to you.’
She turned to the slave girl. ‘Do you have a sharp knife? Good. Wrap up well, take anything you need from the waggon and go.’
Tegen kissed them both, jumped down, then led Epona away through the nervous crowds.
Just because the golem was dead did not mean the demon had left.
Tegen could sense its malevolence sweeping through the camp, inhabiting all those who had refused the oath of Bran.
She also sensed its presence on the other side of the hill, festering hatred amongst the Romans.
Especially in the heart of Suetonius Paulinus.
Once again, Tegen sensed that the Governor of Britain was looking for her.
Before the Battle
Suetonius sat with his generals in his tent, a large sand map on the table between them. The battle site was excellent. He only had the XIV legion, and detachments from the XX. About ten thousand men in all, but they were well rested and equipped.
Suetonius jabbed at a deep valley in the map. ‘Move the men into position below the trees, facing the open country at the bottom. In the morning, the British rabble will move north, straight into our trap. What’s the state of that woman’s “army”?’
A tribune handed Suetonius a wooden tablet with numbers tallied neatly in the wax. Suetonius thrust it back. ‘Just tell me man!’
‘Sir!’ the tribune snapped to attention. ‘Reports estimate over two hundred thousand, but in a hopeless mess. There are more women than men, and they’ve all brought their families and goods in the caravan. No discipline, no formation, no tactics and no perceived strategy. Sir!’
Suetonius nodded and drew a circle in the valley of sand. ‘Then this is where we will contain them. The hills are too steep for them to avoid us and the woods will hide us if things go badly.’ He placed pebbles at three points along the river. ‘Their first offensive will use fording points. Break our army into equal sections to face them. Have your most experienced javelin throwers ready. Use a saw formation behind them, with auxiliaries on the flanks and cavalry on the wings. Any questions so far?’
‘No sir!’ his officers replied smartly.
‘Good. Now, they’ll attack just after dawn in their usual haphazard way. After the javelins, press on. The auxiliaries can take care of the first assault, then bring the infantry forward in tight formation. Drive the rabble between our wedges, funnelling them into small pockets so they can’t fight or flee. Bring the cavalry in on the right and left to cut off any who try and escape. Don’t even think of plunder. When we have won, you will have everything.’ Suetonius scowled at them. ‘Is that understood?’
‘Yes sir!’ came the reply.
‘Good. They’ll be moving uphill with no fall back position because of their carts and baggage which they will doubtless arrange like circus seating so everyone can watch! If they didn’t carry so much loot and so many hangers-on, we might have reason to be worried. But as it is …’ The Governor of Britain smiled grimly. ‘I won’t pretend it’ll be easy, these pagans have guts, I’ll give them that, but our discipline will prove our superiority.’
Suetonius turned to where his oiled armour hung on the back of a chair, ready for the morning. He ran his hand over the eagle embossed breastplate. ‘Tomorrow, my friends, sees the dawn of a new era: the complete, unconditional and eternal surrender of Britain.’
And myself proclaimed the Emperor of the North, he added silently.
‘You are dismissed.’
The commanders stamped to attention and left the tent, talking quietly.
‘You too,’ Suetonius snapped at his slave. ‘I need to be alone to think.’ The boy bowed and withdrew. Suetonius blew out the oil lamps, leaving a trail of pale smoke in the firelight. He lay down on his camp bed fully clothed and pulled his fur rugs over his shoulders.
‘Why do you want us to win?’ he whispered to the demon in his head.
I don’t. I simply want the raven haired one, and I am willing to help you if you will get her for me.
‘She’s yours, I swear.’
Then you shall have victory.
Owein and Sabrina sat by Tegen’s side as she stared into a campfire. In the depths of the flickering flames danced the spirits of a million possible futures.
‘It is Samhain tomorrow,’ Tegen said quietly, ‘appropriate, don’t you think? A time for ultimate destruction of everything?’
Sabrina bit her lip and looked into the flames. ‘Can’t you see any hope?’ she asked.
Tegen picked up a stick and poked at a heap of ash at the fire’s heart. ‘If my plan goes well and Boudica holds true to her vow, there will be no battle. The rebellion will fade away, and after the usual Roman repercussions, life will heal itself once more. But I don’t trust the queen. The golem’s spirit is embedded in her soul. I fear she’ll choose battle, then vengeance will follow.’
Tegen turned to Sabrina. ‘Listen, this is vital. If Boudica fights, then as soon as you can, take any who will follow you to the far southwest – where the land ends in the sea. Go by country roads and travel in small groups. There’ll be no more war for a long time. You must never let vengeance take hold or the cycle will go on forever. Do you swear?’
Sabrina took Tegen’s hand. ‘I do. Will we meet again?’
Tegen frowned and shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, not after tonight. But if you live tomorrow, find a good man and marry him.’
Sabrina threw back her head and roared with laughter. ‘Why, in the names of all the gods are you forever trying to marry me off and give me children? I’m a warrior!’
Tegen smiled as she stroked her thickening waistline. ‘Because … your descendants will be warriors too. One will be the greatest king that Britain will ever know. He must be born. Our land will depend on him.’
Sabrina stared at Tegen with her mouth open. ‘You mean that, don’t you?’
Tegen nodded and pointed with a twig at a roaring tongue of flame. ‘He will be a great bear with your blood coursing through his veins and your own weapon in his hand. I have seen it.’
Sabrina drew her leaf-shaped sword. Its steel gleamed golden in the firelight. She was quiet for a few moments, then said, ‘I had been determined to die tomorrow. I thought if we lost there’d be no point in living, but I will listen to you. I will keep my word and live if I can. You have my oath Tegen, and I will never forget you. If you are ever in need, look for me in the south west where the land ends.’
With that, she gripped Tegen’s arms and then hugged her, tears streaming down her face.
Owein watched silently as Sabrina dried her eyes with the edge of her cloak. He had never seen his foster sister shed a single tear before. At last he said, ‘don’t tell me what becomes of me. I don’t want fear to cloud my thinking … I have much to do tomorrow.’
‘But …’ Tegen began.
Owein raised his hand. ‘Please, hear me out. Boudica was only putting on a show of agreeing tonight – to shut us up. We three have to know what to do when everything falls a
part. I have an idea, but it will seal all our fates.’
The friends talked all night. Just before dawn, Sabrina hugged Tegen and Owein for one last time, then left.
Owein curled up in his cloak and lay down by the fire, but Tegen couldn’t sleep.
She called out to a guard, ‘Find me a bard – or a singer of some sort. I want someone to go through the camp and put heart in the warriors.’ She threw another log on the fire. The branch was green and damp, making a thick, oppressive smoke. Tegen coughed. Her head ached and she was very tired, but it was too late for sleep.
Soon footsteps approached in heavy boots.
A red and black Silurian plaid swayed in the smoky firelight. ‘Who’s there?’ she asked.
‘I’ve come to sing,’ announced a voice that sounded familiar.
‘What’s your name?’ Tegen yawned and rubbed the ashy smuts from her sore eyes.
‘The son of Cei,’ the young man answered. ‘Singer and poet, at your service.’ He bowed.
‘What songs do you know? We need something heartening, to give the warriors courage – and to strengthen those who must leave for Tir na nÓg.’
‘I understand,’ the young man replied.
Tegen squinted through the stinging smoke. ‘I know your voice, but I can’t see you. Are you a bard?’
‘I am a warrior,’ he went on, ‘but I also make up songs. If you need a druid-bard, I cannot help …’ he hesitated.
‘I’m sure you’ll do very well. Let’s hear you, I could do with hearing a cheerful song.’
The young man laughed and pulled out a small drum that had been slung across his back. He tapped a simple rhythm, then began:
‘A rhyme’s as good as me hat,
It sits on me head
and fills me like bread …’
‘Kieran?’ Tegen gasped, jumping up. ‘Kieran ap Cei? Why didn’t you say so? How long have you been with us? Why didn’t you come and see me before? It’s wonderful to see you! Sit down with us. You remember Owein?’ She shook his shoulder.
Owein, bleary from sleep gripped Kieran’s hand. ‘Last time we met, you were a scrawny little runt, bullied by your Mam and Aunt!’
‘I’m a man of Siluria now!’ Kieran announced proudly, puffing out his chest. ‘Best thing you ever did, not letting me get on that boat with you Tegen!’ he announced, puffing out his chest. ‘That smith woman – she made me my sword and taught me how to use it, then she started on me singing and sent me back south to find the Silures again. I joined the rebellion a couple of nights ago, now here I am. At your service.’ And he swept another bow.
Owein sat up and stretched. ‘Then sing something to make us love our Land, something to make us fight for what we believe in!’
Kieran started to tap a cheerful tune. Despite her exhaustion, Tegen could not resist dancing. Drum music had always been special to her.
As she lifted her arms to sway, she could just pick out the constellation of the Watching Woman amongst the fading stars. She almost felt as if she could believe again.
‘Forgive me for losing faith,’ she whispered as she skipped and span, ‘and for dressing up as Andraste. Boudica was in love with the demon, I had to do something.’
The stars twinkled back at her. Deep inside, Tegen knew the Lady had approved, maybe even inspired what she had done. Now there was hope – just a little – that when the sun rose, there might be a way to avert disaster.
Suddenly, Tegen stopped dancing.
Kieran’s fingers hesitated.
‘Before you go, I want you to promise me something,’ Tegen began.
He tucked his drum under his arm and laughed. ‘Anything … well, almost,’ he added. ‘I’m careful about rash promises to a bear-slaying golem maker!’
Tegen took his hands and looked in his eyes. ‘This will be difficult. You mustn’t stay for the battle. When you have sung for our troops, I want you to leave. Straight away, before dawn. You must travel on the southern road and find two young women. One is half Roman, Claudia, and the other is a Gaulish girl, Ula. They’re both friends of mine and very important to how the future will be. I want you to protect them and bring them safely to Sul’s Land, the village by the hot springs. Do you know it?’
‘I do. Mam and Aunt came from near there. But I’m not a scrawny child anymore, I can fight and I want to fight.’ He pulled away from Tegen ‘Don’t do this to me, please. You left me behind when you went on that boat, now you’re sending me away before battle. Stop protecting me Tegen. I can look after myself.’
Tegen shook her head. ‘Your father was a warrior, but he didn’t fight on the battle field, did he?’
‘No,’ Kieran replied, ‘he looked after travellers on dangerous journeys. Didn’t make him less of a warrior though,’ he added crossly.
‘Exactly. And you must do the same as the noble Cei. Now, it’s getting light, you must encourage our people with song, then go … please. What I ask is more important than I can say.’ Then she had inspiration. ‘It’s what Brigid the smith would want as well – I’m sure.’
Kieran nodded tersely. ‘Very well.’ Then he strode away through the sleeping huddles of warriors. As he walked, he tapped a steady rhythm and sang the story of Bran’s cauldron of rebirth where wounded warriors were put to be healed before they were born again.
The Hare
As dawn lightened the sky, Tegen undressed in her waggon, pushed her things into a bag, then handed it out to Owein who was waiting outside.
He slung the satchel over his shoulder. ‘Tell me when you’re ready.’
Shivering, Tegen looked down at herself in the grey half-light, her breasts were swelling and so was her belly, which was marked with a faint dark stripe.
That makes me feel like a wild animal, she thought. That’ll help.
Then closing her eyes, she thought of Tonn who could turn himself into a hare at will. ‘How do I do this, beloved? Help me,’ she whispered. Breathing deeply, she remembered the scent of his skin next to hers and the soft lilt of his voice.
Remember how you became a fish, a river, a stone …?
But did I really change, or did I just imagine it?
No time for questioning, just do it, Tonn’s voice sighed like a breeze in her ear. Crouch down; think of long furry ears, powerful hind legs, strong front ones. Your hair is spreading down your back as downy brown fur.
She felt Tonn stroking her cheeks with his fingers. Now give yourself whiskers, long, white ones. Spread them proudly. Now … jump!
She jumped, and landed with a soft thump. Shaking herself, she tentatively lifted a hind leg to scratch her chin. That felt good.
‘Hurry up,’ Owein called, ‘it’s almost light and the warriors are restless.’
There was no reply. He peered inside the waggon. Two jet-bright eyes peered back at him. ‘Hello,’ he said gently, reaching towards the hare, hoping she wouldn’t take fright and run. But the beautiful creature only twitched her nose.
Owein wrapped her in his cloak and carried her to Boudica’s tent. ‘Good luck,’ he breathed as they went in.
‘You’re late!’ the queen roared, her eyes flaming in the lamplight. She shoved aside the maid who was painting her face with woad, and swaggered forward. ‘Have you got it?’
Owein offered the hare. ‘From the Druid of the Winter Seas,’ he replied mildly. ‘She asks you to remember that if it runs east, you may fight, but if it turns west you make peace – or flee, which ever you deem best.’
‘Yes, yes, I know,’ the queen snapped, buckling on her sword belt. ‘Where is that wretched girl anyway?’ She grabbed the animal roughly and stuffed her into the folds of her green and red plaid.
‘Doing strong magic on your behalf, lady,’ he replied. ‘Now, I also have duties I must perform. May Andraste bless your endeavours.’ He bowed and hobbled back through the tent flap.
‘She’d bloody well better!’ roared the queen. ‘Where’s my chariot?’
Owein mounted Heather and took Epona
by the rein, then slipped out of the camp. The sun’s first rays were gilding the horizon as he rode towards the western edge of the thick wood that spread its autumnal gold beyond the battle site. Between the safety of the trees, Owein found a place where he was hidden from enemy sight, but where Tegen would find him.
The Romans were already in place with their deadly wedge formation. Their ranks ranged the full width of the narrow valley mouth, the woodland at their backs and the stream before them.
As Suetonius had guessed, the British tribes were sprawled across the meadows with their baggage carts hauled into a tight semi-circle behind them. Warriors were still milling around, yawning and vomiting up hangovers from the night before as they waited for the great battle horn to blow.
Then, Owein knew they would all rush forwards, no discipline, no plan – all out for personal glory and head counts. Craning his neck, Owein could just see where Suetonius had arranged his troops. He’d hold them back, allowing the British to cross the water and come right up to their ranks.
Then they’d begin the slow march forward, javelins raised, ready for the slaughter …
By the time the sun was half up, the waggons were almost all in place and crowded with spectators. Owein’s mouth was dry. There would be no victory and no retreat. This was different from Boudica’s other battles: those times she had taken towns that had been warned and were more or less empty. She’d simply walked in and taken over with fire and sword.
Today would be a real battle ending in disaster, unless Tegen’s shape shift made Boudica relent. Owein guessed the queen would never keep her vow to obey the Goddess.
Owein bowed his head in respect. Good warriors would die today.
Dismounting, Owein hid Tegen’s bag under leaves, keeping her cloak over his shoulder in case she transformed back into a human before she was clear of the camp. For now, he could only watch and wait. He pulled himself back into Heather’s saddle and watched the sun rise.
