The Roman soldiers rushed toward them, but the attempt was useless. Brude and his men melted into the dark woods and hid between the trees. The Roman commander ordered his soldiers back to camp.
Drest emerged from behind a tree, grasping the shoulders of the still-struggling captive, who now had his hands tied behind his back. In a moment’s time, Brude and his other men, each on foot leading their horses by the reins, gathered around Drest and the Roman.
Brude grinned at Drest and Gethin. “Good job.” He swung up on his horse. His men helped lift the gagged soldier up on the steed. He sat pillion in front of Brude, who commanded his men, “Mount up and ride back home.”
With one arm around the Roman’s chest, he used the other to jerk the man’s head toward him. “Do not fear, we mean you no harm. Your god, Belatucadros, has work for you to do.” As soon as Brude mentioned the god, the man's eyes flickered with recognition. “You do not speak Pictish, but you know the name of our war god.” He laughed. “Yes, you are the one.”
As Brude rode pillion with his captive through the woods, Gethin pulled his horse closer to his. “How do you know he is the one Belatucadros wants?”
“When he came at me, with no weapon but rage, I knew him for a worshiper of Belatucadros. Tanwen guided me. She was in my mind, and she yelled at me that this was the one.”
Gethin chuckled. “Druids do have the magic of reading minds.”
Brude couldn’t help but grin. “It is why I did not wish to marry one, but having Tanwen as a wife does have benefits.” He swallowed tightly, recalling her nude body, skin smoother than cream and pink with the flush of arousal. His heart beat erratically as he envisioned her heavy, rose-tipped breasts jutting above her narrow waist, seductive hips and shapely thighs. He kicked his horse’s flank, speeding his horse into an urgent, dirt-kicking gallop back to the village.
* * * * *
Her skin tingled, and bubbles of excitement burst inside her chest as she stood outside the chief’s house. She gazed down the road, straining her eyes for a glimpse of a tall warrior on a black horse riding back home to her. Nothing calmed her. Her entire body would remain jumpy until she set eyes on him once more. She hadn’t slept all night. Her mind had been racked with images of Brude— from thoughts of his strong, chiseled face and large, piercing dark eyes, to the heat of his hard, muscular body pressing against her bare skin, to fears that he’d been stabbed by a Roman dagger. She felt rage at the images in her mind of Brude lying on the dirt, bleeding helplessly as soldiers in hobnail boots looked down at him, jeering. Her pulse hammered, and then it seemed her heart stopped at the sound of the tattoo of horses’ hooves. She screamed with joy the moment Brude came into view, alive and safe. Then, her gaze impaled the man riding with him. Tanwen gasped. “It is the Belatucadros devotee.”
Brude pulled the horse to a quick stop and vaulted off. She smiled and opened her mouth but, before she could utter a word, he swung her into the circle of his broad arms. Crushing her against his warm, firm chest, he claimed her lips. Her heart beat quickened. The feral hunger in his kiss sent a jolt of heat down to the pit of her stomach. Tanwen deepened the kiss, twisting her lips over his. He thrust his hot tongue deep into her mouth. With sweeping, swirling motions his tongue found hers. The sensation that her entire body would burst into flames engulfed her. When he drew his mouth away from hers, she let out a long sigh and stood there trying to get her bearings.
“Should we go inside?” He grinned.
She looked around and no one was there but the horse.
“Our captive awaits.” Brude pointed to the chief’s round house.
While they had kissed, Gethin and the others had hauled the Roman into the wheelhouse.
“Yes.” She turned and entered the chief’s house.
The god’s devotee sat in front of the hearth fire with Calach at his side. Drest untied the Roman’s hands.
“Ale for our honored guest,” Calach called to the servant.
The man’s hands shook as he reached out for the brimmed cup of ale. He grabbed it and then downed it in one gulp.
Brude smiled at Tanwen as he said, “Here he is.”
Her eyes fastened onto the Roman the moment she entered the house. Finally able to speak with him, she opened her mouth. Just as she began to talk, a noise from outside drowned out her words. She jerked her head toward the door. “What?"
“How did they find out so fast?” Brude asked.
She swung her head toward him “Some of the men who saw you ride in must have told the whole village.”
“No, not that we returned, but that we mean to let the Roman live.”
“Oh.” Tanwen gulped “They want the Roman killed.”
“It would seem so,” Calach said.
“Who will calm them so we can speak to him?” Brude nodded at the captive, now gulping another cup of ale.
“It is my duty as chief.” Calach stood and walked toward the door.
“No, it is by Belatucadros that this Roman’s life shall be spared. As druidess, it is I who must proclaim the will of the gods to the people.”
“I graciously give way to you, druidess.” Calach stepped back.
“My thanks.” She couldn't keep the tinge of sarcasm from edging her tone.
Tanwen walked outside, meeting an angry mob of Caledonii tribesmen. Their thundering shouts shook the ground beneath her feet. Savagely, they yelled even louder in her presence, hammering for the death of the captured Roman. The mass of warriors surrounded her and squeezed in on her.
Tanwen took a long breath and let out a deep bellow, “I am your druidess. Hear me speak.” Suddenly the mob hushed. Her voice now rung out as everyone else grew silent. “You dare to go against your gods. Woe to you.” She raised her hand, shaking her fist at them. “Heed me. Belatucadros knows not that you mean to kill the man he has sent to us. This man, this Roman, will be loyal to us. He will give us victory. So the god has said. Go now. Leave before Belatucadros knows you mean to go against him and he brings his rage down on all of us.”
The mob of warriors scattered like a flock of birds at a loud noise. She turned around and then entered the wheelhouse. Calach and Brude stood on either side of the captive, each holding one of the man’s arms. He was babbling in Latin.
“He threw the cup of ale down, leapt up and started jabbering so fast I can’t understand him. What is he saying?” Brude asked.
“He's saying, ‘Do not let her burn me alive, to set me on fire in a big wicker basket. No, do not let the druid get me. I will do anything you want.’” Tanwen folded her arms across her chest.
As the Roman continued speaking Latin to Brude and Calach, Tanwen translated, “He is begging the two of you two kill him rather than turn him over to me.”
She looked at the man eye-to-eye. She changed her tone to a calming one, and in Latin she said, “Belatucadros knows you worship him. The god is happy with you. We mean you no harm. You are an honored guest, not a prisoner.”
She turned her head to Brude and switched back to Pictish. “Let him go.”’
Both he and Calach hesitated.
“Need I speak to you as I spoke to the mob out there? This is the man Belatucadros led us to. We have nothing to fear from him. He will help us.”
As they released their hold, Tanwen gestured to the Roman to sit on the pelt by the fire. “Refill his cup of ale and bring him bread and honey.”
“You shouldn’t be here.” Brude rested his hand on her shoulder. “You are near your time. Tanwen, go home. You have done your part, I can take over now.”
“I speak Latin better than both of you and god Belatucadros commanded me to find this man, so I need to be here. Slowly, she eased down on a pelt facing the Roman. “What is your name and what part of the empire do you hail from?”
“Laca is my name. I am from Pannonia, the village of Seribinum.”
“Do they like the Romans there?”
He shrugged. “We have many legions in Pannonia. In Seribinum,
the Romans have a river fleet that sails from our port. They are there; what can you do?”
“We do not like them here.” Tanwen crossed her arms. “We will not let them stay here. We can stop them. “
Her words brought a smile to Laca’s long face. “This I know. What will you do with me?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged and flashed him a half smile. “We only hope that you will help us. We all worship Belatucadros. He told me I could trust you. You can trust me. Pray to Belatucadros; he will tell you.”
Huctia came in with food and ale for the soldiers.
Tanwen flashed Laca a warm smile. “I will leave you now so you can eat and then pray to the god. Ask him if you should help us. Let him guide you, the way Belatucadros guided us to you. I know this is hard to believe, but we are your friends.”
She knew the god would not fail her, but still the decision was Laca’s. She prayed he would heed the will of Belatucadros. Brude helped her to her feet, and then they walked together back to their own wheelhouse. She eased down into a sitting position by the crackling fire at Brude’s side. Taking his hand in her, she pressed his palm over her belly so he could feel the baby kick.
Gethin ran in. “Bright One, the Roman has drunk a full skin of ale, and he says he is ready to speak with you.”
“I am coming.” Brude shot up.
“No. It is better if I go alone.” She rose to her feet with his help and left the wheelhouse. She waddled down to the chief’s round house and entered.
The Roman smiled and gestured for her to sit beside him. He reached up and pulled his tunic off. For a strange man, a Roman soldier at that, to suddenly undress in front of her scared Tanwen for a moment, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax. Old scars from a flogging marked his back.
“Soon after I was forced to join the army at an age of ten and four, I was punished. I did not stand up straight enough for the commander.” He pulled his tunic back on. “I am far from home and I have no love for the army or Rome. In truth, I would rather be here than in my camp as long as you vow I am safe.”
Tanwen gazed directly into his eyes. “By all our gods, I swear no harm shall come to you here.”
He leaned closer to her. “I have not been told any of Agricola’s plans. But we are out in the far north, searching for each tribe’s grain pits.”
Tanwen let out a gasp of breath. “He is planning to burn the grain when we collect it at Lughnassa.”
"It must be so.” Laca bobbed his head. “It is all the information I have, but I truly want to help you.”
“I believe you. We thank you for this information. We may ask you to help us again.”
“In what way?”
“As a decoy.”
His thick brows drew together as he seemed deep in thought. Then, his solemn expression gave way to a broad grin. “I think I would find tricking high ranking generals in the Roman army fun.”
“That is what I hoped you would say. We did indeed choose the right man.”
His smile widened in agreement.
When she left, she found Brude outside the hut waiting for her. “I knew you would come here,” Tanwen said.
“I didn’t come inside, though I was ready to if I heard you scream or call for help.”
“He is our friend, and he wants to help us. He told me Agricola has him and other soldiers searching for grain pits.”
“Grain?” Brude’s expression turned to a deep scowl. “He means to starve us out, to burn our stores of oats and barley after Lughnassa.”
Tanwen nodded. “I am sure of it. Sulwen told me Governor Suetonius burned the Iceni crops and set our crop fields ablaze on Ynys Mon. Agricola means to do the same here.”
“What will we do? Have you a plan?” Brude asked.
“It is never too soon to prepare. With rituals, I will place wards at all the oak trees in and near the village. This will strengthen the protection they give off and help keep us safe from whatever Agricola plans.”
“Do not go alone. Take Lossio with you.”
“You are like a mother goose. I am fine, but Lossio will go with me, two can complete the work faster than one.”
“Can I not help?” Brude asked.
They smiled at each other.
“Come husband. I will find something for you to do. We will place extra protection around the grain storage. Though he will not strike until it is filled with grain at or after Lughnasa, we should safeguard it now. After all, he is a Roman He may be too stupid to know when we actually reap our grain. I don’t think the governor has actually farmed, himself.”
“No, they have slaves for that—mayhaps Celtic slaves. I’m sure it is so.” They fetched Lossio, and the three walked off to begin placing rituals of protection around the village.
Chapter Fifteen
Tanwen hurried outside to tend to her personal needs. Gazing down at the puddle at her feet, she knew her water had broken. Walking back to the wheelhouse, she yelled for Huctia. Her Silure friend and guard ran to her aid and helped her home. She eased Tanwen down onto the pallet. While Tanwen breathed through the labor pains, Huctia ran to get Ciniatha.
Upon entering, the chief’s wife dipped a piece of wool cloth in the bucket of fresh water Huctia had brought in. As Ciniatha patted her forehead, Tanwen’s body felt revitalized from the wet, soothing touch.
She smiled at her mother by marriage. “The baby is coming.”
“Yes. You were asleep when Brude left for the fields to scythe the barley for Lughnasa. He does not even know the birth has begun.” Ciniatha lifted the cloth and dipped it in the bucket again. “I’ll send for him.”
“No, the goddess needs Brude and the other men for the harvest. If we reap the goddess’s bounty, she will help me birth my child. The babe will come as soon as the harvest is in.”
“So be it. As Brude says, you are ever the druidess.” Ciniatha laughed.
Huctia let out a soft chortle. “The Roman is in the field, as well. It’s his first Lughnassa, but he told me about a similar harvest festival in his country. He says Caledonia reminds him of home.”
“This will be my baby’s first Lughnassa also. And do not call him the Roman; his name is Laca.”
“He is one of us now, a Caledonii.” Ciniatha laid the soft cloth back on Tanwen’s forehead. “He helped us fare better in our raids. Dressed up in his uniform, he snuck into Roman camps, let loose their horses and lit fires.”
Huctia nodded. “You did well to have Belatucadros lead you to him.”
“Bless the god.” Tanwen yelped out as the labor pains grew sharper and increased. She turned to Huctia, who grasped her hand, squeezing it tightly. “We must get word to the hillfort, to the Silures, to let Sulwen know Boudica’s bloodline carries on.”
“Yes, though I am sure she knows. I ken Boudica’s spirit is here, for the child is not only her kith and kin, but a descendant of the Iceni tribe,” Huctia said.
“Yes, Boudica will be pleased.” As soon as Tanwen spoke, a sharp pain ripped through her belly. She cried out.
“You are doing well.” Ciniatha wiped Tanwen’s forehead once more. “You will be remembered during the Lughnassa rites. We will bring you the first loaf of bread so you may partake in the ceremony.”
“Partake?” Tanwen scoffed. “You bring me the first loaf of bread. I will conduct the ceremony. I am still the tribe's druidess.”
Both Huctia and Ciniatha laughed at her stubbornness, demanding to lead the Lughnassa rituals while giving birth to a child.
“It is birthwort, to ease the pangs." Ciniatha held a cup up to Tanwen’s dry lips. She drank deeply.
Huctia sat behind Tanwen. That way Tanwen could lean her back into her for comfort while she gave birth. She pushed her back against the Silure warrior as she let out another strong scream.
“The pains are coming faster,” Huctia said.
“That is good,” Tanwen panted. “I can’t take much more of this. I need to deliver this babe soon.”
&nbs
p; “It will come when it comes,” Ciniatha said.
Tanwen screamed again.
Ciniatha smiled up at her from the foot of the bed. “Push, Tanwen. I can see the baby’s head.”
Sweat beaded on Tanwen’s forehead. She grunted and panted from the strain and pain of bringing the child into the world.
Brude rushed into the room. “Tanwen.”
Ciniatha turned to her son. “The child is coming.”
“Brude,” Tanwen cried out as another pain shot through her.
He rushed to her and eased down on the bed at her side. As the next contraction cut through her, she shrieked.
“Help her!” Brude yelled at his mother with concern.
“It won’t be long. I see the head,” Ciniatha shouted with joy. “Push, Tanwen. Push hard.”
She bore down with all her might and thrust forward. Her blaring scream pierced the air. The intense pain tore through her. She felt like she’d been ripped in two. Another shriek filled the air, but it was followed by a steadier, loud bawl— the cries of a babe.
“Let me see my baby.”
“Tanwen.” Brude’s eyes gleamed with rapt joy as Ciniatha held the wrinkled infant up to them.
“It’s a boy,” Ciniatha proudly announced.
The babe cried like he was mad, and he would rarely stop for several tides of the sun.
“You know who screamed like that when he was angry, when a lad?” Ciniatha asked. “Brude.”
“Me?” He shook his head.
“Did you? I was thinking of my brother, Boudicius, killed by the Romans. He was named after my grandmother. When he was little, he yelled for hours like that.” Tanwen cradled the infant against her breasts.
“And it was her sprit that brought you to me.” Brude leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against her sweat-drenched forehead.
“I think I know what you will name him.” Huctia smiled sweetly at the baby, who waved its tiny arms erratically.
“Boudicius,“ Brude said.
“Yes, it is the best name for our son.” Tanwen gazed deep into Brude’s, gleaming eyes.
Ciniatha took the baby from Tanwen and washed the blood off the child using a clean cloth dipped in the laver bowl. She then placed the infant in Brude’s arms and showed him how to support the baby’s head.
The Warrior and the Druidess Page 15
