Rage Against the Dying Light

by Jan Surasky

  Next, Alonius, anxious to turn the talk to the emerging charms of Celtic maidens, turned toward Caractacus, his friend since childhood. "Caractacus," he said, a look of gentle teasing passing over his features, sprung from the closeness of childhood, "you look at the maiden Cortitiana with the eyes of a bull in the field. But, she is the daughter of a Silures noble. Perhaps it will be necessary to take as your queen the daughter of a tribal chieftain, to bind the tribe to the Silures in added strength."

  Caractacus turned to Alonius, a serious look replacing his former mirth. "I have spoken to Father," he said, "of his plans for me to wed. The Silures are a powerful tribe, great in numbers. To align with another tribe through marriage would add only numbers, not strength. The Silures in council hold to keep loyalty within our tribe to be of more import in strength than to align with another."

  A look of resolve passed over his face, accompanied by the dreaminess of youth. "Cortitiana and I have been playmates since childhood," he said. "We have marveled at the croaking frog of the marshes, slid the banks of the Avon River wetting our cloaks in the chill of winter, and stood together as the sun rose over our ancient grove. It is fitting that we should spend our lives together in the service of the Silures."

  As the young nobles turned their thoughts to speculating which Celtic maiden might grace the hearths of their futures, and the young Silures pondered the impact of the proposed royal marriage upon their tribal status, Votorix strode alongside, his serious countenance banishing all thought of further jabs at the young romantic, and signaling a return to the purpose of their gathering. "We must go again inside the council hall," he said. "You have ridden long and hard to the gates of our city. We must continue our talk of differences to strike agreement which will strengthen our tribes in seasons to come."

  Votorix again led the way through the palace's winding halls to the council hall, settling himself upon the same hassock as before, as did the nobles and warriors of each of the two tribes. Votolanus, a high born Coritani noble, spoke first. "I agree with Mandolatus to increase the trade between our two tribes, though distance separates us. We must get to you the copper of our earth and the timber our lands grow to strengthen your bulwarks, your chariots, and your warrior's sword. And, we must bring from you the pearls you pull from the sea to enhance our artisans' wares and the swords, spears, and scabbards you turn on your craftsmens' forges."

  "To liven the trade between our two tribes will increase our bounty," he continued, shifting his weight slightly upon his hassock and leaning forward as a look of greater intensity crossed his face, "a sign of strength to repel the Belgae intruders. But, I do not agree with Mandolatus to call first the warriors of the Danube and the Rhine if the Belgae make attack upon our city, but to call Silures warriors to strengthen our defense in battle."

  Ordovetorix, a Coritani noble advanced in years and veteran of the field of battle, with a voice still marked by the volume and depth of youth, spoke next. "I agree with Votolanus," he said, his thundering voice filling the room as he sat erect upon his hassock. "The warriors of the Danube and the Rhine fight fiercely and with great courage. But, they fight for bounty, to prove their courage and to save their hides. They care not to stay the Belgae from our island's tribal gates."

  "But, the Silures," he continued, "have an interest to stay the Belgae from overrunning our isle and to keep the peace among our Celtic tribes. They must be first to strengthen our numbers on the field of battle if the Belgae make attack upon the gates of our city." His thoughts put forth, Ordovetorix leaned back his frame, still ample despite the withering flesh which hung upon it, upon his hassock.

  Silence filled the room as nobles and warriors of both tribes juggled the terms put forth against the advantages of their tribal pursuits. Votorix spoke, addressing the Silures contingent. "How do you answer our terms? We must bring forth an agreement suitable to both our tribes."

  After careful thought, and some shifting upon his hassock, Caractacus spoke. "If we are to keep our tribal cities free from the attack of raiders we must be prepared to add our warriors to your numbers in case of a Belgae attack upon your tribal city. If the Silures are attacked, or our fields foraged, we will take in exchange the advice of your warriors upon the field of battle."

  Venutius, silent but thoughtful until now, spoke next. "To increase the trade between us would add to the bounty of both our tribes. It would as well perhaps increase the power of our trade upon the Continent, the fine wines of the vineyards of Gaul, the oils and scents of Iberia, and the silks they take in trade on journeys far to the east."

  "A lively trade," he continued, "will keep our merchants and nobles busy and prosperous, our warriors from longing too often for the field of battle, and discourse flowing between us."

  Cunobelinus, listening quietly as Caractacus and Venutius put forth their thoughts, spoke next. "I agree with the two princes of my household," he said. "Trade will strengthen our tribes and the knowledge of your warriors our position on the battlefield. We must pledge to aid your tribe in the protection from raiders of the south. We must also enlist your aid should raiders threaten our tribal gates."

  Votorix turned to the Coritani nobles and warriors grouped about him. "Does the Coritani council," he asked, "agree to the terms of our distant neighbors who have generously agreed to ride to sit in council with us under our roof?"

  The Coritani advisors nodded their assent, one by one, as Votorix's glance passed among them. Votorix addressed Cunobelinus. "We pledge to assist you in time of attack upon your cities' gates. We also pledge to send emissaries to talk of increased trade between our tribes."

  Votorix then turned to both groups. "It is rare that we sit together under one roof," he said. "Perhaps there are thoughts which you desire to put forth about our life upon this isle."

  Immediately, a murmuring arose among both the Coritani and the Silures, rising almost abruptly in intensity. Andromatus spoke, his tone weighted with the concern of the political intricacies of councils past, silencing the murmuring about him. "There have been rumblings among our Druids," he said, "of a concern that Rome now wants to subdue our entire isle. They fear attack upon our shores."

  Mandolatus spoke next. "Our nobles fear the greed of Rome as well. In their travels upon the Continent in behalf of the commerce of the vessels of our artisans and the pearls we pull from the sea, which the Romans covet, they hear talk that Rome must again satisfy its hunger to subdue. The threat of uprisings in Gaul and Iberia long gone, the Celts live there as Romans. The Celts of Germania defend as strongly as the Romans attack the lands beyond the Danube and the Rhine, wearing after more than two centuries the patience, military supplies, and numbers of both."

  "There is talk," he continued, his voice rising in intensity, "that the Romans look beyond the Continent to our shores to finish Caesar's attack of nearly a century ago. It is said that the tribute promised Caesar by five of our isle's tribes, which they often forget to pay, is no longer enough to satisfy the coffers of Rome, or the lands it occupies enough to satisfy its glory and its power. And," he added, "Rome does not forget our aid to our Gallic neighbors in their defense against its armies."

  Votorix addressed the council next, pausing to pull together his thoughts. "If Rome attacks our shores, we will align ourselves with larger tribes east of our gates. Prasutagus of the Iceni rules a tribe large in numbers and rich in wealth. He negotiates with neighboring tribes to enjoy a reign of peace and compromise. His emissaries are trained long and well in the art of diplomacy."

  "We have not numbers to spare," he continued. "We will attempt to maintain our way of life through diplomacy with the Romans."

  Cunobelinus spoke next. "We will meet the Romans only on the battlefield," he said, speaking evenly as he sat straight upon his hassock. "We will not surrender, for if we surrender our swords we surrender our spirits as well. Under the armies of my grandfather Curnovitrix the Silures repelled the Roman armies and drove them from our tribal lands, to leave our island wit
h no Silures bounty upon their ships, nor promise of Silures tribute upon their lips. If they climb again upon the shores of our island to attack the gates of our cities or the fields of our tribal lands, we will carry out our heritage again upon the field of battle."

  Domitatus, a Coritani noble trained in the art of commerce and the battlefield, spoke up. "In many lands upon the Continent, Celtic tribes live side by side with Roman governors and armies."

  At this, Venutius, listening patiently to both sides speak, spoke up, barely able to contain an anger honed in a land dominated for a over a century by Roman rule, reducing the power of Celtic tribal chieftains like his father to a distant memory, rarely recounted any longer around an evening fire. "It is true that many Celts upon the Continent enjoy the life of Rome. Gone are the huts that for centuries sheltered Celts in Gaul and in Iberia, replaced by grand stone villas with courtyards and even Roman baths. Gone are the dirt paths trod hard upon by the horses of Celtic merchants in search of trade, of royal messengers and huntsmen, and by the feet of our farmers in search of a hare for an evening's supper. In their place are roads paved with the stone of our countryside and the sun-dried clay of our earth, connecting our towns and dwellings in grand design. And gone are the skins and the furs that once covered our bodies against the chill of winter, replaced by the toga of Rome."

  "But," he continued, "the nobles grow fat and lazy around the table in the service of the Roman governors. And, the farmers, once toiling for the defense of their own tribal lands and the taste of cheese and bread upon their supper plate after a long day's work in the field, now taxed higher and higher as the seasons pass, toil as well for the richness of the Roman table, where no expense is spared to lay upon it delicacies imported from the farthest reaches of lands, the revelry of Roman entertainments and games, and the attempts to conquer their own ancestral tribes across the Rhine."

  "The artisans," he added, "no longer valued for their craft, are put to work to pave the roads and raise the Roman villas. Celtic men, once brothers of chieftains, nobles, or merchants, all warriors of the field, are taken to pull the salt from Roman mines or fill the gladiator ring to quicken Roman pleasure. Their women are sent to fill the urns and tote the scents of highborn Roman women."

  "And," he added, as he hunched forward, his tones more hushed, "there are no Druids to prepare the rituals of our ancestors in our prayers to Belenus for the rains of harvest, to instruct us in the signs of a telltale omen, to administer justice when our own tempers have gone astray, and to offer the words of wisdom. Gone are the bonfires of Sanheim and the sound of the clashing swords as our youth make a pact of manhood. Gone are the flowers of Beltane strewn before the image of Sequanna at its maidens' dance. Gone are the Celtic gods. Instead," he said, pausing to catch breath, "the Celts must worship Roman gods and build, with their own hands and at their own expense, temples to the Roman Emperor Tiberius." At this, Venutius leaned back, himself surprised at so lengthy a rush of thoughts from a youth so often spare with words.

  Votorix spoke next, pausing to let the murmuring which arose, subside, as nobles disagreed with nobles and warriors uttered battle cries in a show of strength. "We must end our council as the sun begins to set," he said. "We have made agreement to protect our tribes from the raiders of our island. We are not able to make agreement on the threat of attack from Rome. But, we Celts of this isle must listen to our neighbors of the Continent who hear the words of the Roman governors. If Roman armies sail for our shores, we must make haste to send warning to our friendly tribes, that they may prepare to meet the Romans before they lay waste our cities and our fields."

  Votorix rose. "We thank our Silures guests," he said, "for riding to our gates to leave behind for even short a time the import of daily tribal affairs. We wish to offer you the comforts of our palace walls and of its grounds. The servants of our stable and our huntsmen welcome you in a grand hunt prepared in your honor for the morrow."

  Cunobelinus also rose, still grand in stature despite the wearing of the day. "The Silures thank the Coritani," he returned, "for the comforts you have so generously poured forth. We look forward to riding at your side to chase the proud stag and clumsy boar of the Coritani forest."

  Votorix led the way as the nobles and warriors of the two tribal groups strolled from the council hall to pursue the activities of evening. The young to chase the maidens, the gaming match, and the duel brought on by ale and the exuberance of youth. The old to satisfy the palate with the joys of table, to compare the ways of commerce and administration, and to duel with wagging tongues the exploits of seasons past.

  As they reached the end of the hall which led from the council room to the start of the narrow, winding hallways which led to the palace's great hall, its courtyard, and its maze of private bedchambers set off to the side, the laughter and the gossip which flowed freely among them kept them from notice of the Coritani princess, who stood behind a large, stone column raised in support of the thatch of the palace roof. As the council had passed, Boudicca had surprised Catrinellia with her willingness as a student of royal duties, and Mandorix as a pretend pony on a grand and glorious hunt about the palace halls. As she searched the knots of passing nobles for Caractacus and Venutius, she wondered who would find the glossiest length of mistletoe to crown her tresses come Beltane in their search of the sacred grove on the morrow.

  Chapter Four

  Boudicca awoke with the first rays of the early morning sun. She longed to rush to the Silures quarters to awaken Caractacus and Venutius, but she knew it would not be proper. Instead, she arose and pulled from her great, cherry wood chest a favorite tunic in hues of the darkest woodland greens, and a woolen cloak to match, to guard against the chill of the early morn. She added to it a pair of sandals turned from the toughest of boar hides, and a pair of her sturdiest trousers, for she knew Caractacus and Venutius would wish to ride the plains of the Coritani countryside and to explore the bogs, dried with the winds of winter and awaiting the rains of spring, and the great forests of their childhood visits along the way.

  She splashed a bit of water, hauled from the Coritani countryside and held in a great earthenware pitcher along the wall of her bedchamber, quickly upon her face and hastily pulled a boar's bristle brush through the nighttime tangle of her long, red tresses. Then, she headed for the palace stables to choose a mount, detouring slightly to the great, palace kitchen, alit with the rays of the early morning sun, and noisy with the bustle of bakers turning the morning cakes of wheat to a golden brown, to leave word with the kitchen servants to pack her a meal ample enough to share with the two Silures princes.

  As she trod the dimly lit hallways toward the bright sun of the outdoors, she thought of Tricerbantes, her mount since childhood. Papa had chosen him for her, an Albino small in stature and carefully bred and foaled from the most prized of the palace herds, born with the spirit of his ancestors of the wild. As they trained in the shadow of the palace stables, under the watchful eye of the head stable servant, he would let only Boudicca climb upon his back, her chubby legs hanging about his sides. Together, with the passing seasons, they rode the Coritani countryside, often without benefit of saddle. But, now, Tricerbantes was old. She must give him rest, and choose a mount to keep pace with the steeds of Caractacus and Venutius, horses bred for the speed and stamina of the journey.

  She pushed open the small, heavy, wooden door that led to the palace courtyard, and crossed its well-worn paths to the entranceway of the stable, its large, wooden doors flung open against the morning sun. As she crossed its threshold onto the clay floor, strewn with the wild, dried grasses of the countryside, she heard a familiar whinny arise from the farthest end of the stable. As long as she could remember, Tricerbantes had always acknowledged her presence. But, now, his whinny went up from a body which lay longer prone on a pile of hay. She raced among the early morning activity, a groom with a boar's bristle brush at work on the golden mane of a stallion, another feeding himself on legs more feeble with the pa
ssing seasons, and placed his nose over the stall door in greeting. Boudicca laughed as she stroked his muzzle.

  "How goes it, Tricerbantes," she asked, as he returned a gentle whinny in answer.

  She turned to see Belanus, the head stable servant, in attendance. "Belanus," she asked, "could I please Tricerbantes with the taste of honey?"

  He turned in answer toward the stores of honey kept in earthenware pots stacked along the highest of the rough-hewn shelves of the stable. He returned, toting a large share upon an earthenware slab. She dipped her hand into the nectar and brought it up to Tricerbantes' mouth, a treat she had often used for work well done. He nibbled gently until the sweet liquid disappeared entirely from her hand. She laughed, and patted him upon his mane.

  "You must rest, now, Tricerbantes," she said, as she stroked his soft white muzzle once again, "but we shall ride the plains again together."

  She turned to Belanus. "What mount do you have ready for saddle to ride the countryside this morn?" she asked.

  "I have just the mount to tend to an early morning frolic," he said, as she followed him to the stall of a dapple gray mare, frisky though she had not yet left the stable. "Will she fill your wishes, princess?" he asked, as he stood patiently by the mare, awaiting her answer.

  "Oh, yes," she answered. "And, you must saddle the Silures princes' stallions as well," she added, "as we must leave as soon as they appear."

  She moved aside to free the grooms to scurry about in the fulfillment of her request. As she stood, she felt a pair of hands, untouched by the roughness of the labor of the field or kiln, but toughened by sword and bow, encircle themselves about her eyes.