by Jan Surasky
"Princess," said a voice, chuckling and deep with the energy of the morn, "you must guess which warriors have answered your quest of mistletoe for Beltane."
Boudicca giggled, as she feigned the silence of thought. "Perhaps it is Votan," she spoke, in reference to the image of a bold and courageous warrior of ancient Celtic myth. "Or," she paused, "perhaps it is two Silures princes who have at last decided to arise from their bedcovers to join a search for the glossiest of mistletoe that clings to the oak of the sacred grove."
She laughed as she flung Caractacus' great hands from about her eyes and turned to throw her arms about him. Then, she embraced Venutius, standing patiently by, silent but with eyes asparkle. As they stood, Belanus and his attendants arrived with their mounts, groomed and saddled, ready with the energy of hand-fed oats, and fresh from the rest of a stall ample with hay.
Boudicca and the two Silures princes rode their mounts slowly through the gates of the Coritani city onto the grassy slope of the hillside below. Caractacus, straight upon his horse, spoke first. "I shall race to the great forest beyond the sacred grove" he proposed, his deep laughter rumbling against the quiet of the hillside. "The last to arrive shall act as servant, spreading our meal beneath the shade of a woodland tree."
"I shall see that I arrive before you," answered Boudicca, raising the reins of her dapple grey in the palms of her hands.
"Never cast aside the speed of an Iberian prince," retorted Venutius, hunching forward upon his stallion to gain upon his two companions.
Caractacus sat tall in his saddle as he gave the command to begin. "Ready. Forward, ho!" he shouted, as he spurred his stallion onward, shouting on his companions' mounts as he went. As the three sped down the hillside out upon the meadow, where daisies sprouted newly risen with the early morning rain, the wind rushed through Boudicca's long, red tresses. She laughed as she sped ahead, her dapple gray carrying her along to the great woodland beyond. As she approached its edge, the mounts of Caractacus and Venutius pulled alongside, their laughter mingling with the song of the willow wren among the sedge, and leaving in question a winner to their race. Caractacus declared himself their servant and toted their morning meal to the shade of a great sycamore tree, its clumps of yellow blossoms aburst with the spring, and its large, flowing branches a support to the nest of the willow wren upon its brown speckled eggs.
The three sat upon the dark, green linen cover Caractacus had spread along the roots of the sycamore, to take their meal of the soft, creamy cheese turned from the milk of the palace goatherd and ripened in its creamery, wheat cakes, and goat milk held cool in skins. As they sat, the song of the robin and the blackbird mingled with the rushing of the woodland streams and the faint scent of the pink and white anemones along the mossy floor. As they ate, they gazed upon the height of the trees, the blue of the sky visible only through the topmost branches, the sycamore, the oak, the cherry and the maple, grown awesome with the passing seasons.
Caractacus spoke first. "This forest must have been a great refuge for the warriors of our isle against the Roman armies," he said, as he leaned his body against the thickness of the sycamore trunk.
Boudicca spoke next. "Diviticus says warriors hid among the trees of the forest, to jump upon the Roman armies when they knew not. And, yonder bog would catch them," she added, "for Roman warriors have no equal upon the Continent of the tangle of peat and grasses along the softness of the floor of our island bogs."
"The great trees of the forest provide refuge as well from the ravaging tribes of the south," said Venutius. "It would do well for the artisans of the Coritani to fell trees only from forests thinned already by nature or the axe."
"We must move on to the sacred grove," said Caractacus, as he began to pack up the remains of their morning meal. "Diviticus will await us."
"But, first, we must catch a fish for Diviticus' supper," said Venutius, as he lifted the green, linen cover from the foot of the sycamore tree. "I will race you to the banks of the Devon," he laughed, as he got a running start to jump upon the back of his stallion. Boudicca and Caractacus jumped upon their mounts as well, catching Venutius as he raced across the meadow, his laughter loud against the rush of his stallion through the tall grasses and the clap of his horse's hooves upon its sod.
The three reached the banks of the Devon together, dismounting to lash their horses to the sparse stand of trees which lined the top of the riverbank. Venutius headed downstream to catch a fish as offering for Diviticus' evening meal. And, Caractacus sprawled himself in the shade of a great sycamore tree, its trunk grown tall toward the sun, its roots spread wide to hold the earth of the riverbank.
Boudicca raced down the grassy slope, unfastening her cloak and dropping it as she went, to skip along the large stones of the river placed helter-skelter by nature not far from the grassy shore. As she skipped along the stones, made smooth and glossy by the rush of the river's waters, she lost her footing, sending her into the midst of the clear and sparkling water of the Devon. She rose laughing, making her way up the slope toward Caractacus, her wet tunic clinging to her body as she ran. Caractacus laughed in return, as she dropped down upon the grasses near him to wring the Devon's waters from her linen tunic and to dry herself in the warmth of the morning sun.
"Caractacus," asked Boudicca, shaking her tresses as she wrung the water from them, "will you join the hunt this day?"
"Yes, Boudicca," he answered, lifting himself slightly as he raised himself upon his elbow. "I bring down often the hare and the quail upon the Silures lands. But, our woods are sparse, making it difficult to stalk the wild boar and the woodland stag. I look forward to returning to the Silures with the salted meat of the boar and the smoked joints of the woodland stag."
"Then, I shall wait with Diviticus," she answered, "for he has promised to share with me the omens of the ancient Celtic rites."
As they sat, a wren in the sycamore singing its morning song, Venutius appeared, his tunic dripping the waters of the Devon. He smiled as he held fast to a speckled, brown trout, slippery and wiggling still between his hands. "This noble fish nearly left my grasp for upstream waters," he said. "But, now, it will fill Diviticus' plate as offering for his evening meal."
He threw the fish upon the grass as he sat, catching his breath from the chase of the trout as it darted to and fro among the rocks of the Devon. He gazed at the sparkling waters passing over the jagged rocks as they went. Then, he rose. "We must depart for the sacred grove," he said. "We promised a certain maiden we would join her in a quest for the glossiest mistletoe of the woodland. We must make haste before the prized of the vine is carried off by celebrants of Belanus."
The three made their way to the sacred grove, hitching their mounts to the ample trees along its edge. As they trod the paths that led to Diviticus' hut, the rays of the sun which lit their way were few, seeking openings among the treetops of the thickly wooded grove. As they reached the clearing which held Diviticus' hut, Boudicca burst forth through the brush to embrace the Druid, lost in the study of the omens of the grove, the tracks of a woodland hare, the song of a robin as it called out its morning song.
"I have brought Caractacus and Venutius," she said, as she threw her arms about him, catching her breath from her sudden sprint across the clearing. Diviticus turned toward the two princes as they strolled across the clearing, stretching his arms outward toward them. "Greetings, Diviticus," shouted Caractacus, as they moved their steps more quickly, embracing him as they met. "I bring you greetings from Orthoveterix," he added, delivering the message from the Druid of the Silures' sacred grove.
"I thank you, Caractacus," said Diviticus, as he embraced them both at once. "I must return him a message with you, as we have much to discuss after our meeting at the Isle of Mona."
Diviticus stood back in appraisal of Caractacus and Venutius. "You have both grown since I saw you last," he said, glancing approvingly at them as he smoothed his long, white robes. "And," he added, "you stroll with the grace of a war
rior. You have trained long with the sword and the lance." He paused, beaming with joy seen rarely in a man of such dignified countenance. "You show," he continued, "the promise of a Celtic chieftain."
"And," he said, "I must show you the news of the journey of the stars across the evening sky. We at Mona learned much from Arthnovotus, the Tricerbantes Druid. For many seasons, he has been a student of the skies. And now, he has learned of new stars to guide the traveler upon his journey."
"But," he continued, "we must not talk now. You have come, I know, for a strand of the finest mistletoe which twines about the oak of the sacred grove. I must not keep you from your quest. We shall talk as we meet again to study the stars when the moon rises in the evening sky."
At this, Venutius pulled from his traveling sack the speckled brown trout wrapped in the grasses of the riverbank. "We have brought you a gift from the waters of the Devon," he said, as he thrust the fish into Diviticus' hands.
"What pleasure you have added to my evening meal," he said, as he held the fish between his hands. "It has been long since I have tasted the bounty of the river. We will share our thoughts around the fire of an evening meal when you return," he added.
"We must be off," said Caractacus, "but we shall return as the stars rise in the evening sky."
They turned to wave, sealing their promise of return, as they parted the brush at the edge of the clearing, but Diviticus had disappeared into his hut to prepare the symbols of the evening's sacred rites. Boudicca giggled as she danced along the path in preparation for the maiden's dance. Caractacus and Venutius scanned carefully the mistletoe of every oak, Venutius climbing one to search out the end of its vine, making Boudicca laugh. As he reached the top, he pointed past a stand of maples to a great, ancient oak, partially hidden from view.
"We have found our mistletoe," he shouted, as he scrambled down the trunk, dropping to the forest floor from its great width. "I shall cut it free," he said, as he moved through the stand of maples, pulling his hunting knife from its bronze scabbard studded with amber and the coral of the sea and lashed securely to his waist as he went. He returned to place the mistletoe, its clusters of shiny, green leaves studded with the tiny, yellow flowers of spring, atop her tresses.
"Oh, Venutius, it is beautiful!" she cried, as she danced about, the mistletoe entwined about her locks, the rays of the sun shining down upon them. "Sequanna will be certain to favor me come Beltane."
"You will be the most beautiful of maidens," said Caractacus. "But, now, we must be off to the hunt, and you must carry the mistletoe back to Diviticus to keep its freshness in the waters of the sacred stream."
Boudicca accompanied Caractacus and Venutius to their mounts at the edge of the grove, waving them on long after they became specks upon the distance of the horizon. As they rode, the hunting party assembled in the great forest beyond, accompanied by servants and pack horses, their saddle bags filled to the brim with banquet leftovers, Catrinellia's contribution to help bind the agreements of council in the open air and camaraderie of the hunt.
Mandorix sat tall astride his horse as Votorix pulled his mount alongside the Silures chief. "We shall await Caractacus and Venutius before giving the signal to begin," he said, shading his face with his hand as he looked through the trees to the plains beyond.
Cunobelinus smiled in assent, relaxing his posture astride his mount. "Mandorix looks fine upon his horse," he said, as he glanced over at the boy patiently awaiting the signal to begin. "He will make a fine chieftain someday. But, soon, you must choose a match for Boudicca. Do you have thought on which tribe you shall settle?"
"There are tribes to the south and to the east which will give strength and nobility to the Coritani," said Votorix. "But, though my greatest duty be to the strength of our ancient tribe, I choose also the chieftain," he added, "for I will never make a match to a king who uses ill his queen."
As he spoke, Caractacus and Venutius rode in, slowing their mounts to take their place alongside the party. Votorix nodded as he raised his hand in signal to the horn blower, whose blast upon the long, bronze horn, sculpted with the image of Danu, god of the hunt, sent the waiting party abruptly into the chase of the woodland stag and the wild boar.
When Boudicca was certain the two princes were no longer in her view, she turned to retrace her steps along the path to Diviticus' hut, her strand of mistletoe carefully within her grasp. As she approached the clearing, she heard voices arising from the bank of the sacred stream. She paused to continue her step lightly, avoiding the twigs of the woodland floor, lest she startle the visitors to the stream of the sacred grove.
As she made her way through the brush and onto the grasses of the clearing which held Diviticus' hut, she turned to see a woman, wrapped in a roughly woven tunic of flaxen hue and holding the hand of a boy the size of Mandorix, his trousers worn but sturdy enough to keep the chill from his childish frame.
"Now, drop the wooden image of Sequanna you have carved into the sacred stream," the woman instructed the boy, still holding fast his hand. The boy flung the image, held tight in the grasp of his free hand, upon the sacred stream, the rush of its waters carrying it to the rapids below.
"Now, we must pray to Sequanna," she said, as she let go his hand to step back slightly from the waters of the stream. "Oh, Sequanna," she implored, "make this boy's leg whole and well. Make it grow like others, so he may do the work of the gods."
The boy moved backward as well, dragging his leg as he went. "Sequanna," he said, "please make my leg strong so I can plow the earth like Father and grow to be a warrior like my brother Anthropus."
Boudicca announced her presence with the snap of a twig underfoot as she moved toward the two along the edge of the sacred stream. She smiled as she spoke. "Sequanna must hear your pleas," she said, directing her words toward the boy. "She favors those who treat well her image."
The woman spoke next. "Ambiatrix grows with a leg that is lame. But, his spirit grows as whole as any other. He follows the plow more slowly than the rest, but the seeds he sows grow as stoutly from the earth."
"We come often to the sacred stream to ask the blessing of Sequanna," she continued. "We come also to gather the herbs of the sacred grove to lay upon Ambiatrix leg as the stars rise in the evening sky, to soothe its stiffness and aid its growth," she added.
As they spoke, Diviticus appeared alongside, worn from the preparations of the altar. "Greetings, Arithra and Ambiatrix," he said, as he addressed the woman and the boy. "You must come in a fortnight to the sacred grove. We shall perform the rites of Epona, and ask the earth goddess' blessing upon Ambiatrix leg. And," he smiled, looking directly at the boy, "we will weave a special bouquet of sacred herbs to hang upon your door to cast away the evil spirits come Sanheim."
Arithra thanked Diviticus, and turned to Ambiatrix. "Come, my son, we must go," she said.
"You must come to the palace to hide and uncover the boar's tooth with my brother Mandorix," said Boudicca, as she turned toward Ambiatrix. "It gives him great pleasure to romp about with one who has passed the same number of seasons as he."
Ambiatrix answered her invitation with a glow upon his face, images of sharing the games and secrets of childhood with a youth of his own years running through his thoughts. Arithra thanked Boudicca and made ready for the two to depart, to finish the chores which awaited them before the sunset, bringing in the tools of the field, leading in the goat from pasture and the young ones from play, and setting out the bread and cheese of the evening meal. Boudicca and Diviticus watched as they walked across the clearing, returning their waves as they departed through the brush.
"Diviticus, are there medicines to make better Ambiatrix leg?" asked Boudicca, as she stooped to gather in her palm the water of the stream to sprinkle upon the waxy, green leaves of her mistletoe strand.
"Our grove and the plains of the Coritani countryside are full of the balm which heals," answered Diviticus. "The leaves of the cinnamon tree to soothe the colic, the unopened buds
of the clove tree to rid us of the cough of the winter chill and the dampness of spring, the wild thyme to cure the mange, the mustard seed for the bite of the scorpion, and the powder of the wild crocus to cure the bite of the mad dog or the madness of the plague."
"But," he continued, "for Ambiatrix, there is no cure but the play of youth, the warmth of the crushed mint leaf at evening upon his lame limb, and his prayers to Sequanna and Epona to add strength to his leg as he grows strong and tall."
He paused, taking from her the mistletoe of her hands to lay upon the waters of the stream, a rock to steady its end upon the bank. "You must care well for your strand of mistletoe, Boudicca," he said, as he kneeled along the bank of the stream, carefully placing the strand beneath its waters. "It is the most sacred of symbols of the ancient Celtic rites. It begs favor of Sequanna come Beltane and casts off the evil spirits at Sanheim. And," he added, "its plump, white berries provide food to the birds of winter. But," he continued, as he turned to her, raising himself to stand erect once more, "the taste of its autumnal fruit brings death to the human who craves it."
"Now," he said, as he turned to walk across the grasses of the clearing, "we must talk of omens. You must watch as the white hare of the grove hops about, to tell by its tracks the outcome of a favor or a quest, a bounty or a battle."
Boudicca followed Diviticus toward his hut, as a white hare, nibbling the grasses of the clearing, scampered zigzag toward the safety of its hole behind a woodland rock. "Now," said Diviticus, "if you count the number of changes a hare seeks as it moves along its path, you will know the answer to the question you seek, an odd number favorable, an even number misfortune."
He quieted as he stalked another hare, moving softly from behind, to catch it unawares as it nibbled its leafy meal, lifting it gently and placing it in Boudicca's outstretched hands. "Now," he said, "throw this brown hare over your left shoulder, and observe its retreat. If it runs to the right it is a favorable omen, to the left an unfavorable sign."
