by Jan Surasky
"Now," said Erithrominus, "we must find your mother. All she talks of to those who will listen is the importance of her eldest son to Celtic tradition and his place in the greatest of island tribes." Venutius knew the importance to his mother of his place in the house of Cunobelinus and of his present alliance. Her grandfather, before the Roman rule, had been a Celtic chieftain. Erithrominus led Venutius through the small, front entranceway into the simple vestibule, through the atrium, and out onto the open courtyard. His mother Lillia was instructing a servant by moonlight the place of a sapling fig tree.
As Lillia spied Venutius, her sandaled feet remained fixed on the elaborate tile. Her eyes, always the changing green-blue hue of the open sea, filled with tears. As she recovered, she rushed toward Venutius, her tresses dressed in proper Roman style spilling loose from their clasps, her deep auburn locks now mixed with strands of grey.
As she reached him, she clung to Venutius, the joy of her grasp wiping out the pain of the distance of many passed seasons. She stood back to look upon him. "Venutius," she said, "you have grown into a handsome Celtic warrior. The strength of your alliance has brought us the greatest pleasure."
"We must prepare for you a feast of welcome," she continued. "But, first you must go off with Epidorix, for I can see by his features he must tell you all he has kept to himself for many seasons." Her laughter, the first of the evening, filled the open courtyard.
Venutius embraced his father, bending gently down to kiss his mother upon her cheek. "I will have Epidorix at table with the first summons of a kitchen servant," he promised, as he followed the youth out of the courtyard and into the atrium of the villa.
Epidorix led Venutius to a chamber at the far end of a hall. Roman gods looked down upon the sparsely furnished room and a likeness of the emperor Claudius perched upon an oaken chest. Epidorix lifted the lid, removing from beneath a layer of mantles a rusted sword. Carefully, he held it out to Venutius. "You must teach me all you have learned in study with the warriors and guardians of the Silures palace," he said.
Venutius looked upon the face of his younger brother, the longing of youth impatiently upon it. "It is with pain of death that you lift a sword in your own defense," he said. "For a Celtic Roman subject may wield a weapon only as conscript of the Roman army."
"I know," returned Epidorix. "But, how must I face our ancestors of the Other World?"
Venutius took the sword from his brother's hands. "We must go far into the countryside," he said, "for even the servants must not know our mission." As Venutius laid the rusted weapon back beneath the layer of mantles, he added, "On the morrow, we must both be at the stables before the first rays of the early morning sun."
True to their pact, as the rays of the morning's sun set upon the servants' quarters, the brothers were headed toward a secluded woodland, one of the few left untilled about the plateau of arable Iberian countryside, its greenery set in the middle of a rocky, barren landscape. As they lashed their mounts to a hickory, Epidorix pulled from his saddlebag the rusted sword. "We must make haste," said Venutius, as he pulled from a scabbard hitched about his waist the bronze of a carefully burnished sword. "Mother and Father will miss us as the sun rises farther toward midday."
The agility of Epidorix and the patience of Venutius brought quickly to Epidorix the skill of the sword. As the brothers increased their visits to the woodland, Epidorix' footwork began to match more carefully the movements of his sword. "You must come here often after I'm gone," said Venutius. "With practice, you will match the skills of the bravest Celtic warrior." After they finished, they often rode back in silence, each savoring the companionship of the other, or chatted until the sun went down.
Activity filled the days with Lillia and Erithrominus. Lillia was content to sit and gaze upon her son, offering him the delicacies of their frugal larder. Or pulling him about to show him her latest culinary improvement or addition to the courtyard garden. Erithrominus, though slower in his rounds, insisted Venutius accompany him on them, stopping occasionally to chase a fish, swift in the sparkle of a slowly meandering stream.
Or to talk of politics. The rumors he heard from the Roman officials as they claimed the taxes he collected. The whispers and boasts that Claudius would take the last of the Celtic holdouts, the isle where Caesar had a century ago forged but a loose alliance.
As the rays of the sun grew shorter, Venutius packed his traveling bags, adding to them a shirt given him by his mother embroidered with her grandfather's tribal crest, a wooden figure of a naked Celtic warrior carved by Epidorix on rests during their jousting sessions, and a small, leather pouch from Erithrominus, tooled about with the crest of the Celtic tribe in which legacy named him chief before the Roman rule.
As Venutius mused upon the memories of his visit, he spied a ship which would hold both man and mount. Standing upon its deck to pay his passage, he savored the sun upon his back. The black clouds of storm were already forming out over the open sea.
Chapter Eleven
Boudicca awaited Venutius in their favored grove in the woodlands which stretched below the Iceni palace. She had brought with her some tiny, honeyed game, slabs of ripened cheese and the warmth of a newly-turned out bread, the freshest goat's milk and a slightly heady mead to enjoy for their midday meal. The choicest fruit hung on a nearby apple tree.
Under its ancient branches and along its gnarled roots, Alaina and Valeda laughed and played, tossing mossy leaves to a brown, speckled hare, and chasing the woodland squirrels. They dangled their toes and threw pebbles into a brook, its slippery stones turned smooth by the centuries' rushing waters. Their mounts were lashed nearby.
Boudicca sat on a linen cloth, its hues mingling the tints of the sunset sky and the blossoms of a springtime meadow. The scent of pink campion wafted about and the chatter of birds gorging themselves on the red and purple berries of the elder and hawthorn trees pierced the chill of the autumn air. Pheasants and partridges scurried for cover as a short burst of wind rained leaves upon their paths. Squirrels shook the branches of a beechmast tree in their quest for winter bounty. The orange and yellow of a newly-burst mushroom contrasted the woodland floor and the trees rose with a blaze of autumn color, the deep, golden yellow of the elm, the gold of the birch, and the golden red of the maple.
As she sat, Boudicca sang tunes and told the tales of ancient Celtic deeds, drawing about her Alaina and Valeda. She sang to them of Etana, a goddess turned into a swan. She sang of Proteus, a mortal youth who pleased the giant god Futan with a brush of bristles for his unruly locks which he plucked from a magical boar, winning his favor and the endless bounty of the streams the god watched over. She sang of the Otherworld, of its trees of silver and gold with leaves of purple crystal, where the purest love reigns free of duty, where sunlight plays and the birds sing softly forever.
Four years had passed since Venutius had been joined to Cartimandua. Since that time, the Brigantes prince consort had often been a welcome visitor in the Iceni palace, joining Prasutagus for stately talks and Boudicca for idylls in the woodlands, accompanied by Alaina and Valeda. Occasionally, as the children played or slept, watched over by their nursemaids, the two would practice their skills of mount together, riding far into the woodlands, across the fields and through the dangerous fens, the memories of their youth alive within them.
As Boudicca sat regaling her children with the wonders of the past, the clap of a horse's hooves against a pine-strewn path cut through the gaiety of their reverie. Venutius appeared, his long, dark locks entangled about a ruddy face newly-etched by the chill of the autumn wind. He dismounted, lashing his sturdy roan to a nearby stand of elders.
"Venutius, Venutius," shouted Alaina, as she ran, her legs sturdy and swift beneath her, her arms outstretched, toward the Brigantes prince. Valeda followed, her legs still chubby, straining to match the pace of her swifter sister.
Venutius chuckled, as he bent to wrap his outstretched arms about them, lifting them as one into the air. "What
do you have for me?" asked Venutius, holding them aloft beneath the elders. "I have five kisses and hugs," said Alaina. "One from my pony Nerthus, and four from my pet turtles I have collected from the woodland." Venutius laughed as Alaina hugged and kissed him, Valeda giggling as she tried to do the same.
"Now, let's see what I have for you," he said, as he set them softly down upon the shaded grasses of the clearing. He reached into his traveling pack, its tooled scrolls surrounding a Brigantes seal. He pulled from it a carefully carved doll, chiseled with a summer tunic. A band of blossoms hung about its neck. He handed it to Alaina. And for Valeda, a ball, carved from the wood of an oak fallen by a camp site.
As Alaina took the doll, she quieted, struck by the image which looked very much like her. Then, she hoisted it upon her shoulders, running about to show it the woodland flowers, calling each by name. Valeda, quickly taken by her new toy, rolled the ball about the mossy woodland, aiming for a stand of elders, and shrieking with joy whenever the width of a trunk stopped the rounded, wooden object.
Then, Venutius, weary from his journey, knelt beside Boudicca, arranging his lanky frame to lean against a great, red maple. As they sat, he plucked a blade of grass, blowing into it to raise a tune to entertain the children.
As the chill of the autumn wind swirled about them, carrying with it the slight fragrances of the crabapple and elderberry tree, Venutius related the tales of his journey to Boudicca. His visit to the villa of Erithrominus. Newly-paved roads which ran into the countryside, bringing upon them tax collectors directly from the streets of Rome. Water, brought by pipes, even to the remotest province, to irrigate figs and olives, grapes and grain, raised on land once left untilled, to grace the Roman tables. And, great temples, raised by the labor of slaves, with altars to worship the Roman gods, watched over by stony images of Claudius.
As the children played, the two talked idly of their ambitions and dreams. Of Venutius' plans to organize and distribute fairly the lands of Brigantes nobles, keeping peace among them. Of Boudicca's plans to liven the palace meals with music of the bards and to add to the hues of the palace chambers with sprays of woodland flowers. And, her plans to raise Alaina and Valeda with charity and fun as well as duty.
Together, they walked the woodland floor, gathering hickory nuts and splashing in a narrow stream, Venutius snatching a speckled trout to add to their evening table. As they walked, Venutius spoke. "I must return soon to the Brigantes palace, for Cartimandua is impatient to increase her output of trade," he said. He stopped, reaching out to pluck a woodland rose and handing it to Boudicca, who placed it in the single, deep-green linen tie that held her long, red tresses. She giggled as they crossed a stream, lifting her tunic to save a drenching of its gracefully embroidered edges.
He continued. "I must also send word to Caractacus of the whispers about the Continent of Claudius' plans to set his army upon the shores of our isle," he added. "And, I must talk to Prasutagus."
As the sun began to set, and the children grew sleepy with play, they packed their linens and pulled the two princesses onto their own mounts, leading Alaina's pony behind them. There would just be time for Venutius to wash off the dust of his journey. Boudicca had left word with the kitchen servants to set out plenty of wine and ale, delicately roasted birds, and wild boars well-turned upon the spit, for she knew Venutius and Prasutagus would talk far into the night.
Chapter Twelve
Caractacus stood upon a hill overlooking the great Trevari River. Woodlands stretched behind.
Seven Beltanes had passed since Londinium had been toppled, prey to a well-trained Roman army. Two seasons later, moving west to lay waste to every small tribe in its path, taking hostages and booty, it had reached the Silures lands.
Cartimandua, eager to save the trade routes which had for so long brought her the luxuries she adored, on the fall of Londinium quickly claimed herself a friend of the Roman Empire. Prasutagus, in an effort to forestall the decimation of the Iceni tribe, and to protect its great wealth, became a client-king, forging an agreement with Rome for independent rule.
Caractacus had persuaded Belovaci, the chieftain of the Ordoveces tribe to the north, and long the most fiercely independent chieftain of the isle, to join his warriors to the Silures in a stand against the Roman army. He had swelled their numbers with the Suebi and the Ubii, Celts from along the Danube and the Rhine, who asked very little to enter the field of battle, a sack of grain or a tin bowl or two turned out by an island artisan, whose tribes discouraged the ownership of lands or coin, prizing only valor, and who had succeeded in repelling every attempted Roman invasion of their borders.
Belovaci had agreed as well to forge the weapons of traditional Celtic battle. Chariots to scatter the enemy, picking up and dropping off the warriors of a skirmish. Shields the size of a warrior's frame. Helmets with likenesses of animals and horns atop, giving courage to the warrior and fright to his enemy challenger. Extra-long javelins and spears.
Caractacus chose the woodlands to make camp, issuing orders to both the Silures and the Ordoveces, to make haste. All must be hidden by sundown, laying in wait for a surprise attack when the enemy appeared. He also ordered the hills to be fortified with rocks along their slopes, impeding an easy ascent by the advancing Roman army.
As the work progressed, Caractacus retired to the woodland, checking the points where his warriors must hide to best be out of sight. His warriors, greatly outnumbered, had kept the Romans at bay by fighting fiercely, retreating, and fighting fiercely again. But, the Roman army was regularly replenished with troops from Rome, fortified by a lengthy military tradition. His warriors, long without women, home, and children, and watching their neighbors succumb to the Roman sword, were quickly fatiguing. They needed a victory to raise morale.
To this end, Caractacus went about, encouraging, admonishing, and cajoling. Pointing out that victory meant freedom, defeat the loss of their women and a life of slavery at the hands of Rome. His warriors, many of them barely on the horizon of youth, were busy covering their naked frames with the deep-blue dye of the woad plant, a tactic which always startled the enemy and gave courage to the user.
As soon as Caractacus was satisfied his warriors understood his plan, he retired to a clearing behind a stand of elms, gathering his advisors as he went. They settled informally, kneeling in a circle behind the trees. The first to speak was Epidoris, a youth of long, blond locks turned nearly white by the rays of the sun, his pale, blue eyes reflecting the shyness of a youth who had longed to study the Druid ways.
As a child, he had adored the animals of the woodland, playing often with the sacred hare and the goose. Now, he was using the secrets of the woodland, hovering unseen about the Roman camp, bringing back news he observed or overheard.
"The Romans plan to break camp at dawn," said Epidoris, "marching toward the hills of our palace city. They carry many provisions, for they plundered the corn and grain left by our farmers as they hurried toward the safety of our city gates."
He paused, then continued. "They bring warriors on mount as well as on foot," he said. "Their arms are polished and honed, for they bring with them many slaves from the tribes which they have laid waste since the conquest of Londinium."
Caractacus leaned forward, waiting until Epidoris was still. "They must pass between the river and the woods," he said. "The river is deep, and they will not be able to cross."
"We will drive those on foot toward the slope of the river's banks," he added. "The heavy iron that covers the Roman warrior will send those who bear it to the bottom of the Treveri River."
"Those on mount we will drive to the fen beyond the woodland," he continued. "The deep bogs of the fen will catch the hooves of their mounts, driving their warriors to their feet to meet the Celtic sword.
On the morrow, a group of our warriors will creep forward covered by boughs, pushing the Romans towards the river's edge. As they pass, we will challenge them in battle, circling around to cut off their mounted aid.
"
The lines of weariness were carefully etched about Caractacus' deep, blue eyes, now visible in the moonlight, once asparkle on carefree woodland jaunts. "Our warriors must slumber well tonight," he said. "We will send our best youths out to keep watch from the boughs of the woodland treetops. The full moon lights the plains below through which the Romans must pass."
As Caractacus finished, he dismissed his advisors, admonishing them to be sure to take their share of rations. Grain supplied by their farmers and hurriedly baked into bread over an open camp fire, birds brought down by the skill of the bow, and bigger game brought in from the woodland, renewing their strength for battle.
Then, he crossed the grassy plain, trodding the hillside to the river's banks. Moonbeams bobbed along its rushing waters, swollen from a fortnight of rain. A speckled trout, visible in the moonlight, made its way downstream. A hickory tree, its bare branches awaiting the renewal of spring, stood nearby, its ancient roots protruding along the lush riverbank.
Caractacus mused upon the morrow's battle, measuring the height of the river. Then, he returned to the woodland, checking to make sure his warriors were all bedded down for the night. He saved his words of prodding and encouragement for the morrow.
As he settled upon a bedding of his own, on boughs laid down upon the mossy, woodland floor, amidst a spate of fading, autumn blossoms, he thought of Cortitiana. She would now be putting the children into their beds, their chambers filled with the toys of childhood, her soft voice singing them the lullabies of their ancestors.
Caractacus stared at the clear, dark sky, studded with stars, visible between the treetops. He hoped that the ancient warrior Valarian, who he had left behind to ward off raiders and keep the bulwarks of the city intact, would put to good use the services of the farmers who had fled their fields for the safety of its gates. Then, as he mused once again on the plans of battle for the morrow, and searched the sky for the stars which had so often guided his journeys, weariness forced him into a fitful slumber.
