by Beth Webb
She did not get up.
From inside the tent, Owein watched in fascinated horror as the battle slurred into slow motion.
Then everything stopped.
Swords and spears were lowered. It was as if no one was sure what should happen next.
Suetonius must have been watching too, for he kicked his horse into a careering gallop, leaped the stream and pounded to where Boudica lay.
A crowd of whey-faced warriors was gathering around their dying queen. They drew back as the Roman Governor and his guard arrived.
Suetonius stared down at his enemy’s twitching body.
The queen’s hair was loose, her lips were blue and her eyes stared blankly up at her nemesis.
Suetonius dismounted and leaned over her. Then drawing his gladius, he stabbed her heart.
A cheer went up from his followers who took this as a signal to swipe left and right at the gathered mourners, slaughtering everyone.
Then in all the mayhem, a separate detachment of infantry ran along behind the British baggage carts where the thousands of spectators waited and watched.
Thud! Thud! Burning missiles caught deep amongst the baggage.
Screaming and wailing, the onlookers jumped down, hair and clothes aflame. They ran straight into two flanks of cavalry waiting with drawn swords.
Men, women, children. It didn’t matter. The orders were clear.
Rancid smoke swept across the churned field, smothering broken bodies, wrecked chariots, shields, javelins, blood and bone … and here and there, a terrified soul.
Yelling, wailing, horses screaming, carnyxes clattering, trumpets sounding, spears hissing.
Death, death, death.
And all embraced by a raging serpent of flames.
The stores, the children, the old folks. All engulfed.
The smoke swept downwind.
Choking and spluttering, the last warriors turned to flee. But they were trapped, swords behind and fire in front.
Eyes streaming, Sabrina summoned as many of her people as she could find. The desperate few gathered in a huddle. ‘Run!’ she commanded. ‘Forget your loot and baggage. Just go – or no one will live to tell our grandchildren about today. There’s no honour in that. Run through the woods, then turn southwest, until the sea binds the end of the land. I will meet you there.’
And in small groups, a few, a very few, managed to slip away.
Livid, Owein returned to the Roman camp. Brushing the guards aside, he bellowed imperiously for Suetonius.
The Governor turned at the sound of his name.
Owein dismounted and leaned on his crutch.
Suetonius stood, hands on hips, scrutinising Owein as if he were a slug. ‘What do you want, cripple?’
‘You broke your promise.’
‘And where is the girl?’
‘You’ve probably killed her in your slaughter – how should I know?’
‘If she’s dead then bring me her body.’
‘Oath breaker!’ Owein slid his hand under the folds of his toga and gripped his dagger.
Suetonius laughed. ‘I took no oaths, boy. Now, bring me the girl alive or get out of my sight. I remember who you are now, the nephew of that obnoxious sorcerer. He couldn’t be trusted either.’
‘Then trust this!’ Owein lunged, aiming his blade under the Roman’s breastplate.
But his weak leg betrayed him and he fell on the point of Suetonius’s outstretched pugio.
Hot blood oozed around Owein as he lay staring at the Governor’s hobnailed boots.
She’s still alive, find her! whispered the demon in Suetonius’s mind.
‘Later, I’m busy!’ the Governor roared aloud, to the amazement of those standing by, who hadn’t heard anyone speak.
Seeing the puzzlement on their faces, he waved a hand at Owein’s body. ‘Get him out of here! I said, I’m busy!’
The Winter Seas
Kieran moved his broken drum to his other shoulder, and wrapped his cloak tightly against the winter winds and the first flakes of snow.
He surveyed the bare moors that dropped through steep woodlands and rocky gorges. Below were grey, flat stretches of water dotted with marshy islets, and no real tracks to follow. This would be a difficult path. Could they all manage it?’
He looked back at Claudia who was moaning loudly. Ula had an arm around her shoulder and was cheering her on with kind words.
Tegen looked weary, even riding Epona was exhausting her.
He opened his mouth to suggest they gave up, but Tegen rode alongside him and shook her head.
‘In case you’re thinking of going back to Sul’s Land,’ she smiled, ‘the answer is no. Too many Romans are wallowing in those hot springs and looking out for fugitives while they’re at it.’ She rubbed her aching back. ‘The idea of lying in warm water is very tempting, but we’re going on. It’s not much further.’
Tegen pointed to her right. ‘Just beyond that old stronghold on the hilltop, do you see smoke rising? That’s the lead and silver mines. The Hill People do the actual mining. Da buys their ore, then he smelts and works it. Our house is just down that valley; we’ll see the roof through the trees on your left soon.’
As they pushed through the brambles, Tegen pointed out small memories from her childhood. She knew Claudia and Ula were too cold and tired to care, but the excitement of coming home was bubbling up inside her.
Soon they arrived in the courtyard between the whitewashed stone house and the barn, with its little open-sided forge. The place felt neglected but a worn-out looking pony was tethered to a gate and something was clattering noisily.
‘Mam?’ she called, ‘Da? I’m home.’
A tall young man with spiky red hair and beard came out and stared at the travellers. ‘Clesek’s not here!’ he announced shortly and went back inside the forge.
Tegen slid awkwardly from Epona’s back. She crossed to the forge and watched as the young man sorted out odd bits of half worked metal, stacking them in piles. The fire was out – it looked as if it had been cold for a long time.
‘Where is Clesek? I’m Tegen, his daughter.’
The young man didn’t even look up. ‘I remember you. I’m Derren the potter’s boy, remember? We were supposed to get married, my Da said. But …’
Tegen was impatient. ‘There was some talk, but I had things to do. Now, where’s my Da?’
Derren jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Up at the mines. He works for them Romans now. They needed his know-how to run the works. He’s got a new cottage and pay. He’s doing all right.’ With that, Derren picked up his sack and slung it over his shoulder. ‘Your Da said I could help myself to the bits – thought I might have a go at working silver myself. Cheerio.’ Pushing past her, he loaded his pony.
‘Does Da still own this house?’
‘Suppose so.’ He shrugged and led his animal down the hill through the winter-bare trees.
Tegen stared after him for a moment, then turned back to her companions. ‘Did you hear?’ she asked, ‘The Romans have taken over Da’s mines. He didn’t mention my Mam, I wonder …’
‘Come on Tegen,’ Kieran urged. ‘It’s too cold to stand out here wondering. Let’s get warm. We can worry later.’
With a heavy heart, Tegen pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside. The roof was still good, and she smiled up at the crook loft where she used to sleep. In the centre of the main room, the circular hearth was cold and forlorn.
Ula immediately rolled up her sleeves. ‘Kieran, you stable Epona – there’re plenty of outbuildings. Claudia, help me find firewood and Tegen, you curl up and rest. You look all in.’
Tegen didn’t argue. She wiped the dust from her mother’s favourite hearthside chair. Snuggled between its wide arms, she closed her eyes and dreamed of childhood ghosts.
Derren’s gossip in the village soon spread back up to the mines. As soon as dark fell, Clesek filled a basket with food and hurried down to his old home.
The door opened and Tegen looked up.
There stood a man who should have been her father, but was not: he was grey, stooped and sad-eyed. Seeing his only child, he dropped his bag and wiped away a tear. ‘Is it really you?’ he whispered, holding his arms wide.
They hugged and cried and talked until late into the night, sharing bread, cheese, apples and mead that Clesek had brought.
‘Your mother died last winter of the coughing sickness,’ he said, stroking Tegen’s hair. ‘I moved up to the mines then. The Hill People disappeared about two years ago. One day they left their tools and went north. Quite eerie it was. About half a moon later the Romans came and announced that my mine and everything in it was theirs.’
‘No!’ Tegen protested.
‘That wasn’t all bad,’ Clesek assured her. ‘I had the choice to buy silver and lead from them and keep my own forge, or to work for them up there. They pay well. I’m old now, child. I get along, although I miss your Mam terribly. I know she could be grumpy, but I loved her.’
When Clesek finished, Tegen told of her adventures and how she had met each of her companions. She couldn’t bring herself to say much about her beloved Tonn. She simply said he had died. The truth still choked her.
Meanwhile, Kieran found hay for Epona while Ula swept the cottage, shook spiders from old sheepskins and laid them out ready for sleeping. Claudia did not try to boss her around, but neither did she offer to help.
As the night’s chilly winds battered the little cottage, Tegen yawned, kissed her Da, then climbed the ladder to her old bedroom. In the dark, she felt her way past her little table to her old bed of straw and skins. She tried not to think of mouse nests as she crawled into the damp bedding and fell asleep.
In the morning, Clesek had gone, taking Kieran, Ula and Claudia with him. By sun’s midhaven, the girls had returned with supplies of food and fresh straw.
Every evening Clesek came and helped to repair and restore his old home. ‘It’s yours now, my sweet,’ he said as he kissed Tegen. ‘It’s for you and the baba, and your friends too, of course. When I’m too old to work, I hope you’ll find room for an old man by your hearth?’
Midwinter approached and the hills were blanketed in white.
Villagers came once more to Tegen for spells and charms, but they treated her warily, as they had done before. Some even made the sign against the evil eye as they entered her home.
Tegen blessed them in return.
One by one, Clesek sold Claudia’s gold bracelets. The money covered all their needs, but Tegen’s mood sank as traders brought tales of vengeance killings and ‘punishments’ following the battle. There were rumours the Romans were seeking a witch with a tattooed cheek …
Tegen stayed away from the village. She had not averted the great evil and, despite her friends, she was lonely. There were no more druids to discuss magic and stories with, so she taught Kieran some of the bardic songs.
Derren became less chilly, and often came to chat to Claudia by the fire. ‘I think he fancies you!’ Tegen whispered.
‘I’d never marry such a common man!’ she sneered, ‘anyway, I’m betrothed.’ Then she bit her lip. ‘I often wonder … is Owein alive? Will he find us?’
‘I believe he was gravely wounded.’ Tegen hugged her shoulders and rocked as she stared into the fire. ‘He’ll live, but you won’t see him again. I’m sorry.’
Claudia nodded thoughtfully. ‘I liked him. He was kind. I hope he’ll be happy.’
The flames flickered through Tegen’s mind and she found herself speaking again: ‘Owein will go west into the mountains of Cymru and become the strong leader he was born to be. Many generations from now, a grandchild with his name will do great things.’ She squeezed Claudia’s fingers gently. ‘You’re free from your promise to wed, but you won’t marry Derren, you have another fate. A good one.’
Claudia smiled. ‘Thank you, but what about you and your baby? What do you see? Will you stay here?’
Tegen looked into the hearth’s dancing flames, gasped, then held her breath.
‘What is it?’ Ula asked, squeezing her hand gently. ‘You can tell us.’
Tegen shook her head. ‘I’m too tired to see anything clearly tonight.’ She kissed her friends and climbed to her nest under the thatch, leaving them staring after her in the dancing lights of the hearth-fire.
On midwinter’s night, Tegen wrapped herself warmly and trudged up the hill to the clearing between the skeletal tress where Griff had told her to dance for the Goddess. It had been a night a little like this, with sharp, bright stars in the blackness above.
On an impulse, she threw off her cloaks and danced once more. Not as wildly as she used to, because of the weight in her belly and the grief in her heart, but she gave a graceful, courteous greeting to all the spirits.
‘Tonight is the Time of Stone when death rules,’ she told the winds, ‘but like Rhiannon, in the old stories, I carry new life. Bring me to the Time of Air and re-birth.’
Then she sat on a fallen tree. ‘What could I have done differently?’ she asked the stars and shadows. ‘I should’ve been firmer with Boudica. I should’ve saved Tonn. I should’ve prevented the slaughter of the druids – but I didn’t manage to do any of it.’
The stars just twinkled back at her.
‘What did Bran mean, I was born to prevent hatred and vengeance?’ Tegen went on. ‘How can that ever be possible? It’s just getting worse. How can our people forgive Boudica? How can we not hate the Romans?
‘I’ve seen a bright future for my baby … in Ériu.’ She wiped her nose on her sleeve and sniffed. ‘But what about me? Bran promised I’d have my own hearth one day, but I see Gilda going to her grandmother’s … without me. The vision is very clear, I must stay here, but I want to go. But then, Rhiannon gave birth to the Mabon, only to lose him. Must I? I can’t bear it.’
She choked a sob. ‘I won’t bear it – I can’t! I want to be with my child in Ériu. It’s the only place I ever felt at home. We could have a future there. I might be allowed to take part in some rituals, not all the druids will be as harsh as Finglas.’
Tegen’s teeth chattered as she studied the stars, scattered like ogham across the night sky. ‘I’m sure your patterns have meanings. I wish Goban were here, he’d tell me what to do. But then I wish Owein, and Tonn and Griff were with me – and Mother Gilda and …’
Before she knew it, she was sobbing for all the people she had loved and lost.
For Tegen, the Time of Stone was cold and very deep.
*
Book 5
The Book of Spirit
The Remains of the Game
The demon was bored.
The clamour and stench of battle had barely faded. The drunken queen was dead, the last gaming pieces roamed leaderless and hungry across the chequered land. Fighting was sporadic and half-hearted.
It longed for chaos, sweet revenge and unbounded hatred.
Retaliation and bloodshed must be unleashed.
For that, it needed the female with more magic than any mortal deserved. But she had slipped its grasp – again.
The demon surveyed the wreckage of the gaming board.
Still under its command was the soldier dressed in red with plumes and armour. This one loved bloodshed and worshipped cruelty.
Aflame with hatred, the soldier also scoured the land for the girl who had dared to challenge him.
He would never forgive.
The demon valued this man. It would guide him to their quarry.
Together, they would break the Star Dancer.
A Different Druid
Spring came and Beltane drew on. One bright spring day, when primroses scattered their gold along the hedgerows, a baby was born next to the hearth where Tegen herself had come into the world.
There were no stars dancing, but the little girl’s wide eyes looked up at her Mam with bright amazement.
‘You are my finest and best magic,’ Tegen said, stroking her child’s
hair. ‘I’ll be happy if I never make another spell, you are perfection. I only wish your Da and my Mam could have seen you. They’d have loved you so much,’ her voice caught in her throat. ‘And they’d have been so proud.’
At sunset, Clesek came to see his grandchild. Tegen handed him the sleepy bundle. ‘Her name is Gilda,’ she said.
He held the baby close to his chest and rocked her. ‘She is beautiful. So like your mother – and so like you.’ He wiped his eyes.
Gilda’s birth left Tegen weary.
Her soul was already scarred from all she had seen and failed to prevent. Night terrors swam the winds around her cottage, whispering that everything was her fault.
When she was strong enough to walk, she stood outside and looked up at the stars. ‘I will dance. Goban promised the Goddess would protect me. Perhaps she’ll speak to me like she used to?’
You have no right to dance, the demon sneered. You lost faith in your goddess, why would she listen now? She is going to take your baby from you. You cannot trust her.
The icy wind blew. Tegen shivered and went back inside.
That night, the dreams began.
At first they were simple nightmares of battles, the fires of Camulodunum, the dead prisoners in the grove, the crucified women …
Then came the golem, huge, oozing fire and smoke, its eyes glowing scarlet … And just as she had dreamed before, it opened a gaping maw.
But this time it spoke: You have been puny and weak. It is not too late to join with me. You will become magnificent and I will make sure you keep your child.
Tegen woke sweating and shivering. She had been so careful not to give it a mouth.
