by Jan Surasky
Boudicca smoothed again the woolen about Prasutagus' shoulders, and turned to make her way across the clay of the great hall's floor. Her woolen tunic, the hues of the spring meadow grasses, hung about her ankles, drawn at her waist by a belt of golden squares, her sandals a softened hide. Her tresses were drawn back in a mass of curls, loosely clasped with tiny, coral beads.
As she swept across the clay floor and out the entrance of the great hall, she turned toward Alaina's chamber. She must feed her daughter and sing her to slumber with a lullaby. She must also attend to the infant's morning costume, she thought, as she strolled more quickly toward the child's chamber. She would lay it out and choose the brightest hue, perhaps the indigo with the tiny woodland flowers embroidered round its edges, for she had had word of a visit from Linnea. She would arrive at Iceni gates on the morrow.
Boudicca arose before the sun to await Linnea's arrival. Linnea rode through the Iceni gates as the sun shone upon her tresses, the morning rays glistening upon her golden locks, loosely hanging round about her shoulders. Her homespun tunic was neatly gathered with a flaxen belt, and her saddlebag was full of gifts gathered about the Coritani countryside. A rock grown smooth from the rush of the Devon's waters. A woodland root, its gnarled tentacles twisted nearly in the shape of a bird of prey. A brightly-hued stone gathered from the river's edge.
Linnea rode through the city gates toward the palace stables. As she dismounted at the entrance, she handed the lead of her mount to a waiting stable servant and ran across the grasses of the courtyard toward the palace entrance, the rough hide of her sandals parting the grasses as she went. Boudicca, strolling about in wait, spied her friend and ran quickly under the timbers of the palace entrance, its oaken doors flung back, across the courtyard to throw her arms about her, bringing a rise of Linnea's hearty laughter.
As Boudicca let go her embrace about Linnea, she stood back to look upon her. Her cheeks were as ruddy as the fruit they had often pulled from the apple trees in an autumn stroll along the woodland paths, and her face aglow as the new rays of the early morning sun.
"You thrive well," said Boudicca, as she led her friend toward the palace entrance. "The long days about the Coritani countryside must be still agreeable."
"This season past, I spent little time about the countryside," answered Linnea, as she followed Boudicca through the palace entrance and along its hallways. "Since Anthropus and I were joined, we have spent long days upon the fields, bringing grain from the earth to store. We help Father, for there are many mouths to feed. And," she added, as she slowed her strides to match Boudicca's, "we pray also to Sequanna for little ones to join us."
"Sequanna shall answer your prayers," laughed Boudicca, looking upon her friend. "We shall pray to her as we cross the Iceni countryside," she said. "But, first," she added, "you must see Alaina."
They walked toward the child's chamber, passing through its heavy, timbered entrance as they reached it. Alaina lay awake in her cradle, cooing with pleasure at the sight of her tiny toes. Linnea let out a squeal of joy, and begged to carry the infant about the floors of the chamber. Boudicca laughed and lifted the child from her cradle, handing Alaina to her.
Linnea dashed about, laughing and cooing, playing games and reciting the rhymes of childhood. She carried Alaina to the open window, bathing her in the rays of the mid-morning sun. "We shall head for the Iceni countryside," said Boudicca, as she took Alaina to hand her to a waiting nursemaid, giving word to wrap her against the autumn chill.
When Alaina was bundled in several woolen wraps, the three headed for the countryside, on chestnut mares with saddlebags filled with a mid-day meal. They trotted across the meadow, its scarlet poppies swaying in the breeze, their mounts slowed to suit Alaina, though the child often screamed with delight at a short but dashing gallop across the plains.
"We must find a stream and pray to Sequanna," said Boudicca, as they entered the great forest at the meadow's edge. As they entered its woodland, they spied a stream, its banks overflowing, its stones turned smooth from the centuries of its rushing waters, shaded by an old, oak tree. They dismounted, and spread a great woolen cloth of many hues upon its long and aged roots, a clump of snowdrops nestled in its shade, the white of its blossoms a burst of hue against the barren scape of woodland, laying Alaina, still swathed in her woolen wraps, upon it.
Boudicca sat upon the cloth, pulling from her saddlebag their midday meal. A hearty rye turned out in the palace bakery, cheeses of every kind aged in the palace creamery, and tiny, honeyed game birds, chilled in the evening, autumn air. "We shall pray to Sequanna," she said, as she turned to share the fare with Linnea. Linnea rose and tossed the petals of a nearby woodland rose, the last of autumn, upon the waters of the stream. "Sequanna," she said, as she tossed the last of the petals, "I pray for the bounty of the hearth. Answer it as you have granted the bounty of the fields."
Linnea settled again upon the woolen cloth. "You must tell me news of the Coritani countryside," said Boudicca, as she licked her fingers from the honeyed glaze of a tiny game bird. Alaina gurgled contentedly as Linnea wrapped her mantle more closely about her as she sat.
"Our harvest brought great bounty this past season," she began. "Our grain was long and golden, and we stored much." She continued, as she pulled a piece of bread from the hearty loaf, adding a slab of cheese. "We keep it safe and guard against the raids of the southern tribes. But," she added, as she drew her legs beneath her, tasting a hearty slab of bread and cheese, "Father says there is unrest among the farmers. There is fear of Roman armies. Word has spread, brought back by our Druids from the isle of Mona."
She paused, taking another slab of the creamy cheese. "It is long that we have told the tales of an evening under the stars and around the hearth of Roman armies last upon our island. Father heard them from his father, and he from his father." She added a slab of bread to the creamy cheese, and then continued. "The Roman armies took the grain of the farmer, and cut down the warrior upon the field of battle. And, worse for some, they took as slaves, to keep them from the glory of the battlefield and the joys of the Otherworld. To cook, to clean, to haul the stones of roads paved for the mounts of Romans, to pull from Roman mines until they dropped the salt of Roman tables."
"Ambiatrix already prepares to lead the field of battle," said Linnea, as she lifted the slab of bread and cheese. "He studies long the pipes of Bibrocus, working the fields as the sun comes up in the sky and piping tunes long after the moon has risen."
"Perhaps Ambiatrix will pipe his tunes for Alaina come Sanheim," said Boudicca, as she gathered the remains of the midday meal to pack again upon the saddle of her mount. "Mandorix has promised a visit to hear me spin the tales of Sanheim." She paused as she rose to place Alaina securely upon the saddle of the chestnut mare. "He has promised Ambiatrix to accompany him, to ride the woodlands and strike the balls of gaming upon Iceni fields."
After they were mounted, they coaxed their mares along the woodland paths, leaving the forest for the meadow, its grasses thick with yellow primroses. They picked up their pace, spurring their mounts to a gallop, the chilled autumn air flying through their tresses as they went, bringing a rise of squeals of glee from Alaina.
On the morrow, Linnea departed for the Coritani fields, with Boudicca accompanying her to the edge of the woodland which stretched below the palace. They embraced as they reached it. Boudicca waved long after her friend spurred her mount to a gallop and rode along the plains into the horizon's mist.
The festival of Sanheim brought Mandorix and Ambiatrix to hear Boudicca's tales. Ambiatrix pleased Alaina with tunes he piped on the silver pipes of an Iceni minstrel, and in turn was pleased by the giggles of the infant.
When the snow of winter came, so came word of a visit from Venutius. The Iberian prince arrived with the chill of northern winds and icicles upon the trees of the Iceni woodlands. He greeted Boudicca with an embrace and greetings from Caractacus. Boudicca stood back to look upon him, his locks and man
tle heavy with the snowflakes of a winter storm.
"Oh, Venutius," she said, as she led him down the palace hallways, "you must remove your mantle and come sit by the fire of the great hall. Prasutagus' manservant will dry your mantle by the warmth of a kitchen fire."
Venutius followed, handing his heavy woolen mantle, woven in the hues of the earth on an autumn day, to the waiting servant. "I bring greetings from Caractacus," he said, as he kept pace with Boudicca along the palace floors. "He bids us bring an arrow upon a tree in his place if we ride again the woodland paths, for he has little time spent in idle sport since he has taken the vows of chieftain."
"We shall send it to the center of our target," Boudicca laughed, as she hurried along toward the great hall and the warmth of its many fires. "For Caractacus could bring down the hide of the wildest hare."
Boudicca led Venutius through the entrance of the great hall and to a hassock alongside a blazing fire. Venutius sat upon the hassock, rubbing his hands to bring them warmth, the blaze of the fire bringing a ruddy glow to his usually pale features.
"You must see Alaina," said Boudicca, as she called to a nursemaid to bring the child to her. The nursemaid, carrying the child from play in the nursery chamber, handed her to Boudicca. Alaina laughed with glee, her frame filled out with the passing of a year, as Boudicca placed her upon the clay of the floor. She rose to take a step, falling as soon as she had placed her foot upon the floor, bringing again a rise of her shrieks of laughter.
Venutius beamed upon her, holding his arms out toward her. She rose, her wobbly steps bringing her finally into his outstretched arms. He laughed, and lifted her high, her giggles piercing the quiet of the great hall.
Boudicca called for chestnuts, gathered in the Iceni countryside before the snows of winter, to be brought before them and roasted over the blaze. A kitchen servant appeared, toting a basket full of the gathered nuts, turning them over the open fire until they reached a succulent warmth, breaking them open to serve their tender meat.
Venutius rolled the unroasted nuts along the floor to please Alaina, who chased them with a swift crawl, a pace she kept in her play about the palace.
"You must dine with Prasutagus," said Boudicca to Venutius, as she smiled upon Alaina, "and deliver him the news of the Silures tribe. I shall leave word with kitchen servants to set upon the long tables of the great hall an evening meal fit to renew the spirits after so long a journey." She paused, then continued. "On the morrow, we shall ride the Iceni countryside, to explore its plains and bogs, and to send our arrows toward our marks upon the great trees of the Iceni woodland."
"I shall be delighted to bring news to Prasutagus," returned Venutius. "And, on the morrow, we must be on our mounts come sunrise, for we too shall share our news."
On the morrow, as the sun rose, Boudicca arose to feed Alaina. Then, clad in her sturdiest riding trousers, a woolen tunic and matching mantle woven in the hues of blues of sky and waters, and the greens of springtime meadow grasses, her tresses loose save a length of strands wound back with a tie of coral beads, she made her way to the palace stables. Venutius had arrived, awaiting her presence alongside their mounts, two stallions, their coats brushed to the highest shine, glistening in the rays of the morning sun, their saddles polished and oiled atop blankets of the brightest hues, reds and greens, yellows and blues, pawing the ground in front of them in anticipation of a frisky morning jaunt. Servants cleaned the stalls and threw in fresh hay, and grooms led horses from stalls for an early morning brush, trimming their manes and bringing their coats to a shine.
Venutius greeted Boudicca and called for quivers of arrows to be placed upon their mounts, to try their skill as they wandered through the woodlands. They raced across the meadow, reining in their mounts and laughing to catch their breath as they reached the edge of the forest, the great trunks of its trees rising high with the passing centuries, their flowing branches bare and still with the chill of winter.
As they entered the woodland, they followed the winding paths, sending arrows upon the marks of woodland trees. As hares scurried for cover in their holes behind the rocks of the woodland paths, they divined their tracks as they went, finding favor in their omens.
They lashed their mounts and sat beside a woodland stream, taking their midday meal. The scarlet haws of a hawthorn tree, left dangling by the birds, stood vivid against the barren winter scape and the noise of golden-crested wrens in search of food filled the air about them. As Venutius finished, he sent the small, flat stones he found upon its banks to skim along the rushing waters, skipping downstream as they went.
Venutius spoke. "Boudicca, we must share our news." He paused. "Come Beltane, I shall be joined to Cartimandua. Cunobelinus believes a joining of the Silures and the Brigantes tribes will bode well for both, keeping the southern tribes from raids upon our fields, and strengthening Brigantes borders against the small, fierce tribes of the north."
Venutius paused. "I shall visit still," he continued, "for I shall travel to oversee Brigantes lands and to expand our trade upon the Continent." He quieted, sending a stone upon the rushing waters. "I must listen also for news of the Roman government and its armies, for the Roman emperor Caligula boasts that he has conquered both our island and the Celtic tribes of Germania along the Danube and the Rhine, though he has sent troops against neither."
"It is said that he is mad," he continued, "claiming to be all the Roman gods, felling friends as well as enemies. He rose to emperor currying favor with an aged and desolate Tiberius, himself exiled from Rome, burdened by plots, and opposed by the Roman senate. Caligula knows not the ways of the wise and just Tiberius."
"There are those in Rome," he added, "who have not forgiven the tribes upon our island for aiding the tribes of Gaul as they fought for their freedom against the Roman armies. There are others in Rome," he continued, "who would like to see the Roman empire reach upon our shores as well, to add to the number of slaves who toil in the service of Rome, and to fill still further the overflowing coffers of Rome."
She gazed upon the rushing stream. "I shall be at your rites of joining to wish you well," she said. She paused, then continued. "Come Beltane, another Iceni heir shall fill the palace nursery, for I am again with child."
Venutius paused, splashing the last of his stones upon the icy stream. He lifted Boudicca to stand beside him, drawing the remains of their midday meal into a saddle pouch. They strode to the woodland's edge and unlashed their mounts to climb upon them.
They urged their mounts to a gallop across the meadow, its long brownish grasses broken now only by clumps of aconite and snowdrops. The sun set behind them in brilliant hues of scarlet, mauve, orange and yellow, making way for the crisp and clear starry skies of winter.
Chapter Eight
Come Beltane, chieftains and nobles, merchants and warriors, poured in from almost every island tribe through the gates of the greatest Brigantes city. Festivities reigned, for Cartimandua wished to loosen tongues and soften thoughts, currying the political favor of every inland tribe, and displaying the strength of a Brigantes-Silures union.
To this end, her merchants imported the fruitiest wines from the southern vineyards of Gaul, bringing wagonloads in ships across the sea. Her goat herders gathered milk, turning the softest cheese, and her farmers brought in the grain of their fields to ferment. Her huntsmen brought in the plentiful game of the great Brigantes preserves, smoking it and preserving it beneath the ice of winter waters.
The joining rites began as the moon and the stars rose in the darkened sky. Servants cast the sharpened spikes of torches into the hardened earth of the hillside which sloped beneath the city gates and crowds of guests gathered upon its carefully tended grasses, the hues of their tunics barely visible in the moonlight, their voices already thick with ale.
Cartimandua sat mounted below the hillside, Druids gathered atop it. Her ebony mount, its bright white markings visible on its head and forelegs, was still, held at attention by the head groom of
her palace stables. Her silken tunic was scarlet, her tresses in intricate dress bound up with lengths of golden chain. At her signal, a blast of horns was heard about the hillside, and the groom led her mount up the slope.
Venutius followed on foot, flanked on one side by Cunobelinus, his frame bent with age and his step advanced with the aid of a hickory walking stick, his noble head erect with pride. Caractacus flanked him on the other side, his sturdy frame clad in the hues of the Silures tribe, his locks and mustache reddened with the leaves of the henna.
As the Druids gathered, Diviticus was visible among them, his chants and prayers requested by Venutius. His long grey locks shone silver in the moonlight, his long, white robes swayed faintly in the breeze.
As the head Druid Avantes gave the signal to begin, Druid voices filled the air across the night. Justice and peace bestowed on every tribe. A blessing upon this union.
Voices chanted and arms clad in white linen waved about in unison. Ancient prayers issued from the hillside. Ferns and blossoms decked a simple altar, hares and geese in wooden cages above it.
As the voices subsided, the group parted and Diviticus moved to the front. He raised his arms and chanted, "May the Celtic gods bless this union and bring forth from the earth its bounty." Then, he loosed a group of wrens from one of the wooden cages, and intoned his final prayer. "May this union follow the omens of the woodland and the meadow, and bestow upon all the justice of the tribe."
As the crowds began to move about the hillside, Boudicca climbed the slope to search for Votorix and Catrinellia. Her deep, blue tunic, edged with tiny birds and blossoms, its golden belt etched with tiny, Iceni crests, hung on a frame light since the birth of a second Iceni heir. She had named the child Valeda, after a Celtic goddess who brought beauty to the tribes who rained freshly plucked blossoms upon her wooden idol. As she reached the finely-pebbled walkways of the palace grounds, she found Votorix lost in argument over the tactics of war with a retired Brigantes warrior, Catrinellia admiring the blooms of the courtyard, each a speckled orange.
