by Jan Surasky
Boudicca practiced divining the signs as the hares of the woodland sought the nourishment of the clearing. But, her thoughts were full of Caractacus and Venutius. Would they bring down the woodland stag and corner the wild boar? And, most of all, when would they return?
Diviticus chuckled, as his eyes followed her glance forward to the edge of the grove from whence her companions had departed their mounts in the direction of the hunt. As he pointed to the sun setting in the western sky, he said, "Perhaps one more omen, and we must watch for Caractacus and Venutius to draw near."
She watched intently as he plucked a hare from gently nibbling the broad, leafy grasses, lifting it as he went. "To implore from Andrasta, the goddess of war, a favorable sign of battle, the hare must be tossed to the left and make tracks for the right," he said, as he lifted the large, brown hare to the height of his left shoulder. As he prepared to drop the animal behind him to the ground, Caractacus and Venutius made their way through the brush and onto the clearing, spent from the labor of the hunt, but with the energy of the evening and the laughter of a job well done. Boudicca rushed to greet them, as Diviticus placed the hare down upon the grasses to taste again its leafy meal.
Caractacus pulled from his traveling sack a bounty of banquet leftovers, their packing overseen by Catrinellia to buoy the appetites of council members bound to seal their agreements of council in the camaraderie and open air of the woodland hunt. "We must feast beneath the evening sky," said Caractacus, as he spread their cloth upon the grasses of the clearing. Diviticus prepared the fire to cook the fish Venutius had brought. They shared their bounty, the smooth, white goat cheese of the palace creamery, the thick, crusty, rye bread of its bakery, the joints of wild boar, and the honeyed sweetness of the game birds, as Diviticus pointed toward the sky, singling out the stars with import to the journey of the traveler.
Caractacus, long interested in the secrets of the stars, gazed intently at the sky as he spread a slab of cheese upon a wedge of bread. Venutius, most interested in the division of lands and routes of trade upon the Continent, watched politely as Diviticus pointed to the sky, lifting a joint of wild boar as he listened. Boudicca spoke. "I must pull my mistletoe from the sacred stream," she said, as she licked her fingers from the stickiness of the glaze of the game bird.
"I shall accompany you, Boudicca," said Venutius. "And, you must show me where your arrows carved from the woodland saplings have fallen upon the trees."
As they strolled the paths of the woodland, moonlight streaming down upon them, Boudicca spoke. "Venutius," she asked, looking up at the slender Iberian prince, "what will be your place as Caractacus becomes king of the Silures?"
"I will be a prince consort," he said, pausing for a moment to look beyond the moonlit trees of the woodland. "I should rightfully be king, but for the Romans upon the Continent," he added. "Cunnobelinus has promised my father a match upon the island."
"And, you, Boudicca," he said, as he looked upon her, "shall be a queen. I have heard that even now Votorix casts about for a suitable match to shore up the ancient strength and nobility of the Coritani tribe."
"Yes," she answered, as she strolled slowly beside him, "but, it shall be some seasons before I shall be joined. I have yet to learn the full ways of royal duties."
They continued on, strolling along in silence, Boudicca kicking softly the pebbles beneath her feet as she went. Suddenly, she snagged her sandal upon the root of a large, oak tree, sending her tumbling toward the woodland floor. Venutius reached out, catching her beneath her elbow to break her fall. As he raised her up, their gazes met, their faces partially aglow in the moonlight, stilled by the rush of new feelings rising within them. Venutius broke the silence. "I shall return," he said, letting go her elbow and brushing stray twigs from about her shoulders, tossed down by the careless ramblings of a scampering squirrel above them. "I shall ride for the Coritani gates come Beltane."
Chapter Five
The Coritani palace was abuzz with activity as sundown drew near to signal the start of Beltane. Minstrels polished their silver pipes, etched with woodland creatures and Magda, the goddess of song. Servants pulled from their wardrobes their most glorious costumes of spring to impress the gods and, in some cases, a lover or two. Nobles polished their gaming skills, to throw their opponents off-guard, and pick up a parcel of land or two.
In her dressing room, Catrinellia primped, choosing a finely woven linen tunic of cerulean blue, bordered by threads of gold, a reminder of her once golden locks, now interrupted by streaks of gray. It took three handmaidens at once to dress her tresses, one to hold the hand mirror, one to sweep her tresses atop her head with a boar's bristle brush, and one to fasten them with golden combs decorated with images of the goddess of fertility.
When she put the finishing touches to her costume, she whisked down the hall to Mandorix's chamber to oversee his costume. A tunic of a rich, earthen hue, sturdy trousers to match, sandals turned in calfskin, a sword hilt sporting the image of Danu, god of the hunt, and a grand, new golden belt buckle, recently turned out by the palace artisans to draw his belt of golden links to a close about his tunic.
In her chamber, Boudicca hummed as she swayed back and forth, practicing the rhythm of the maiden's dance. She dropped her linen tunic, woven from the flax of the field to her taste, in the hues of the meadow, the woodland, and the riverbank, over her head as she danced. She secured it with a golden fibula studded with amber and coral at her left shoulder and a brightly hued sash in a woven braid about her waist, adding soft sandals and an armlet of gold. She called Mattillia to dress her tresses, securing the tiny plaits with baubles of amber and coral, the rest wound about with petals of the woodland rose. Atop this creation, she wound her strand of mistletoe. As she dressed, she thought of Venutius.
As she turned to leave, she rubbed her bare arms with rose petals, gathered from the woodland and held fresh in a golden bowl, the robins of the forest chasing each other about its rim. Then, as she walked the hallways, she looked about for Catrinellia and Votorix, to join the procession of revelers streaming through the gates of the Coritani city toward the great hillside beyond. As she searched the hallways, groups of revelers laughing and chatting about her, she saw Mandorix running toward her, his favorite bronze stick for field games tucked securely in the crook of his arm, with Catrinellia not far behind. As he reached her, out of breath from his hallway jaunt, Catrinellia announced her presence.
"Boudicca," she said, as she smoothed a crease of her tunic, "we must hurry to reach the festivities. We must not be late for you to take your place among the maiden's dance." She paused, searching about for Votorix, who was strolling the halls from the far end, lost in talk with a noble in charge of trade. She awaited his presence, and the four joined the procession, strolling through the great stone gates, down the hillside, and out onto the meadow, the stars already in the sky, the tall grasses of the meadow sparkling in the moonlight.
Great bonfires blazed about the hillside as they neared it, with playing fields laid out upon the meadow below. Jugglers practiced their skill in the shadows of the dusk, and minstrels piped their tunes to the birds, now still among the treetops, awaiting the signal to begin. Farmers drove their cattle to be blessed and drive the evil spirits from them. Maidens streamed to the hillside in the vivid hues of springtime to ask the blessings of bounty from Sequanna. And youth, polishing their sporting skills as they went, adorned in their finest trinkets of gold, drawn upon their bodies in the indigo of the leaves of the woad plant, hastened to the hillside to beat their childhood rivals upon the playing fields.
As they reached the hillside, Boudicca spied Linnea standing along the grasses, keeping from the hazards of the bonfires a group of cattle and several small sisters and brothers. Boudicca broke forth from the procession, running toward her friend and throwing her arms about her as she reached her. True to her word, Linnea had managed a coarse linen tunic, woven in the hue of the woodland gorse, her long, golden tresses decked o
ut in the riverbank's daisies.
"Oh, Linnea," said Boudicca, as she embraced her friend, "Sequanna will be certain to bless us." She added, as she stood back, "I have brought the larder's best oat cakes and the freshest woodland rose petals to strew about the feet of her image."
"And, I have brought cakes of rye," said Linnea, giggling at the rush of her friend's words, "and petals of the meadow daisies and the riverbank gorse."
As they stood, Votorix climbed upon a straw hassock to signal the start of the festivities, deferring to Diviticus, who stood upon the hillside in his purest white robe, with a sweep of his arm. As the hush of anticipation swept through the crowd, Votorix raised his arm in signal, and several short blasts of the horn rang out into the stillness of the evening. Minstrels played their pipes, jugglers began to juggle, and youth squared off for the field games of the evening.
Boudicca took leave of Linnea to follow Mandorix to the playing fields of Carabi, where players pummeled silver balls along the grasses with sticks of bronze to a hole at the end of the field, drawing the balls away from the other team. As she went, she saw Ambiatrix dragging his leg after him to stand at the edge of the crowd. Mandorix, she noticed, spied him, too. As players were picked for teams, and given a symbol, Mandorix's name was called.
"I shall play the game upon the field, "he said, the crook of his bronze stick firmly within his grasp, "but I shall need a mate to hit my balls into the field of play and upon the winner's hole." He paused, pointing to Ambiatrix. "I choose him," he said, holding carefully his stick as he spoke, "Let the points we both gain add to the score of our team."
A murmur went up from the crowd, but the gamekeeper, taken with the spirit of the evening, gave his assent. "Let the game begin," he shouted, as he blew upon a special tin pipe three short blasts. At that, both teams descended upon the three silver balls, lined along the middle between them. Mandorix managed to free one, gaining a shot at the winner's hole. Ambiatrix moved to the ball, striking it with the foot of Mandorix's bronze stick, sending it to the edge of the winner's circle, and drawing a gasp from his teammates and a round of cheers from the crowd of onlookers.
As the game progressed, Mandorix's team pummeled many balls toward the target hole, but their opponents, excelling as runners, managed to topple them, drawing in the end the highest score and a congratulatory grasp of the arm. After the tally, Ambiatrix dragged his leg slowly after him to reach Mandorix.
"I have practiced long with a wooden ball my brother Anthropus has carved and the wood of a hickory tree," he said, as he stood in front of Mandorix. "I have sent the ball across the plains when I have come in from the field and the plow. But, I thought only the gods would know the strength I have built in my arms as I swung the stick against the wood of the ball." He paused, shuffling his feet to give comfort to his leg. "I give you my thanks. I shall remember this night as I walk behind the plow of planting time."
Ambiatrix took his leave, the glow of triumph still upon his face, to seat himself upon a rock to watch the evening's festivities. As he sat, Bibrocus, long a minstrel, still spry despite the passing seasons, and filled with the energy of the evening danced up, playing a tune upon his pipe. "May I stop to rest alongside you upon this rock?" he asked, as he stopped his dance to look upon the boy. Ambiatrix nodded assent, glad to get a look so close at pipes which had brought such happy tunes to festivals past.
"I saw your prowess upon the playing field," said Bibrocus, as he seated himself in a nook of the craggy rock. "It takes great courage," he added, "to spend so many seasons long in practice."
"I try to match the courage of my father's father and his father before him," said Ambiatrix. "My father tells us often tales of his great-grandfather, a great warrior in battle against the Romans. And, his grandfather, a warrior who kept the gates of the Coritani free from the invaders of the south. My brothers pass many seasons practicing the skills of the chariot and the sword. I, too, must hold our honor to someday become a warrior as well."
Bibrocus looked long into the distance before he spoke. "There are many ways to hold the honor of the battlefield," he said, as he turned toward Ambiatrix. "Many minstrels have performed with honor upon the field of battle," he said. "My great-grandfather moved with the Silures to chase the Romans under Caesar from our isle." He paused to shift his weight as he spoke. "It is true that it is the warrior who topples the enemy with his sword, but it is the horn blower who in the forefront of battle leads him there. And, often, it is the minstrel, with several loud blasts upon the horn, who frightens the enemy into retreat."
Bibrocus paused, watching Ambiatrix give thought. "Would you like to try my silver pipe?" he asked, passing toward the boy the one with the gods of Beltane etched upon it. Ambiatrix took the ancient and carefully crafted instrument into his hands, a look of awe upon his face. He turned toward Bibrocus. "But, I do not know how to play such an instrument," he said.
"It is easy," said Bibrocus, keeping carefully a smile from breaking out upon his face, as he remembered the first time his father had handed him a silver pipe. "Just blow into the mouthpiece and you will see," he added.
Ambiatrix blew a long, loud sound, with wind from lungs grown strong behind the plow and on the plains of gaming practice. "Well, you see," said Bibrocus, "you already have a natural talent. Now, cover one of those holes and blow, and hear what you shall get."
Ambiatrix covered one of the holes along the pipe with his middle finger, blowing a stronger and higher sound, a look of pleasure mingling with the surprise upon his face. As he lowered the pipe, he noticed his father and brothers driving their herd of cattle toward the path between the two great bonfires set aside for the blessing and purification of livestock. He rose, handing the pipe to Bibrocus. "I must go now," he said, as he shifted his weight to move toward his father's herd. "I must help Father drive the herd to the bonfires of blessing."
Bibrocus rose also, preparing himself to dance among the revelers. "You must come to see me often," he said, as he moved his feet to step lively once again. "We will tap the patience you had to learn the skills of gaming upon the plains to play the tunes of the pipes and of the lyre."
As Ambiatrix moved toward his family's herd of cattle, Boudicca moved toward Diviticus standing on the hillside above them, waiting to bless the livestock. "Diviticus," she asked, gasping slightly from her jaunt up the hill, "when will be the maidens dance?"
"Soon," he said, as the gentle breeze played with the folds of his robes. "When we shall have said the prayers and begged the blessings of bounty from the gods upon all the cattle the Coritani farmers drive between the two great bonfires of blessing. Also," he added, "we must prepare the rites of celebration to honor those who have departed for the Otherworld."
As he said the blessings upon the last of the herds of cattle, he stepped down from his perch above them. Boudicca, anxious for the maidens dance to begin, begged to help with the symbols of the Otherworld rites. "Diviticus," she asked, "why do we celebrate the journey to the Otherworld?"
"Because, Boudicca," he said, as he walked toward the altar he had set up upon the hillside, "it is a happy journey. The Celt that passes to the Otherworld finds a land of plenty, where the richest food and drink flows in abundance, where tree branches sway and birds of bright hued plumes warble songs of beauty from them. Music sounds from pipes and lyres without the touch of a minstrel, spring flowers rise through every season, the pleasures of love are untarnished by guilt, and sickness and decay are banished."
"I will help set up the altar," said Boudicca, as she followed along, lifting her tunic to keep the pace of Diviticus' longer strides. As they reached the altar, Boudicca watched as Diviticus lifted two caged doves, their cooing clear despite the noise of the crowd, from the grassy hillside to place them upon the altar. He directed Boudicca to gather the samples of elaborately prepared food he had carried to the hillside in a large, carefully crafted covered wicker basket to place upon the altar next to a cask of wine. A silver pipe lay aside the
two caged doves. And, all about were the newly risen woodland flowers of spring.
"We shall begin," said Diviticus, as a large crowd gathered about the altar along the grasses of the hillside. As he began chanting the ancient rites of the Otherworld, a look of joy upon his face, a hush fell upon the crowd, comfortably cool in the gentle breeze of the evening. When he finished blessing the food, dabbed with honey to show the sweetness of the Otherworld, the flowers, the silver pipe and the wine, he lifted carefully the wooden door of the cage, releasing the doves to fly away swiftly into the night. "Go, and the gods speed you along, our feathered friends," he said, lifting his right arm expansively as he spoke. "Go swiftly," he added, his voice loud and strong in the quiet of the night, "as the spirits of our departed fly to the Otherworld." The crowd, silent until now, waved their arms and cheered, and lifted skins of ale and wine to revel in the rite of celebration.
Diviticus lay his hands upon the altar to end the rite, then turned to Boudicca. "Now, we must begin the maiden's dance," he said, as he stepped down from the altar to walk the grasses of the hillside. Boudicca lifted her tunic, running swiftly down the hillside to the plains below. There, in the meadow, stood a great likeness of Sequanna, sculpted from the oak of the sacred grove, many times the size of the human figure, surrounded by the daisies of the field and lit by the beams of the moon. Maidens, clad in the softest hues of spring, had begun to gather about it. As Boudicca took her place among them, Linnea ran toward her. "Boudicca," she said, as she gasped to catch her breath from her run, "Father has told me he has made a match for me upon the hillside this evening."
"Oh, Linnea," she said, as she embraced her friend, pulling back to pause and ask, "Who shall it be?"
"It is Anthropus," she said, a sigh of relief upon her lips. "But," she added, "it will be many seasons before we shall be joined. Father has driven a hard bargain, and Anthropus must work long and hard to raise a dowry suitable to the agreement he has made with Anthropus' father."
