agreement they paused just outside.
“Sciovana’s family took me in,” he continued. “I had lost a great
deal of blood and taken a fever. She nursed me, and when I lay raving
with grief and pain, she held me in her arms.”
Not enough pain to keep you from taking advantage of her generosity,
thought Lhiannon.
“I didn’t know what I was doing, but when I came to myself and
realized that I had got the girl with child, I was willing enough to
marry her. What did it matter, if you were lost to me?”
Could she blame him, she wondered, remembering how she had
sought comfort with Boudica? If Boudica had loved her as Sciovana did
Ardanos, she would not have been here at all. But here she was, and her
own pain left her with little sympathy for his.
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He stared at her, tears in his eyes. “My love is a girl with hair like
the yellow flag,” he whispered. “Soft as the breast of the swan . . .” He
swallowed and took her hand. “You are a priestess, Lhiannon, as Sci-
ovana can never be. In the great rites we can still come together, priest
and priestess, raising the power!”
“You have everything figured, I see!” Lhiannon jerked her hand
away. “One woman for the altar, and one for the hearth. How very con-
venient! But I have not stayed virgin so long to become your magical
mistress! Go back to your wife, Ardanos! She seems a good woman and
deserves better, but it would appear that she loves you . . .”
He tried to hold her, but with a quick twist, she was running back
down the path. She did not stop until she reached the House of Priest-
esses where she collapsed, weeping, in Coventa’s arms.
S E V E N T E E N
H elve asks if you will attend her this afternoon,” said Coventa.
Spring had come at last to the island, and the soft wind stirred her fair
hair.
“My child, you lie.” Lhiannon looked up from the quern in which
she was grinding grain and smiled. “Helve does not send requests to her
inferiors. You were supposed to bring me her command . . .”
“Well, yes—” Coventa blushed. “But she speaks that way because
she thinks her dignity requires it. Truly, she can be very kind.”
To you, perhaps, thought Lhiannon. If a belief in Helve’s goodness
made the young woman feel better about her own position here, it
would have been cruel to deprive her of it, especially now, when Helve
had transferred her affection to a new girl called Nodona. Except for the
fact that her hair was dark, she reminded Lhiannon strongly of what
Coventa had been like when she was very young.
“You may tell the High Priestess that I will come.”
She scooped another handful of grain into the hole at the top of the
upper quern stone, grasped the use-polished stick that served as handle,
and began to push it around once more. It was hard work of a kind that
she should have delegated to someone like Sciovana, but the repetitive
motion had a mind-numbing effect that helped her get through the
days.
Before going to Helve, however, Lhiannon took the time to wash
and change into a clean tunica. She was glad she had done so when she
saw that the High Priestess was not alone. Lugovalos and Belina, Cuni-
tor and Ardanos, and a selection of the more senior Druids who had
taken refuge on Mona were also there.
Coventa did not tell me that this was a council— perhaps because Helve
feared I might refuse to attend, she thought wryly, though it wasn’t true
that she avoided Ardanos’s company entirely: she only refused to see
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him alone. She settled into place beside Belina with an armored
smile.
“Welcome, my
sister—you complete our circle,” said Lugovalos
kindly. If he was aware of the undercurrents he gave no sign as he went
on. “I have called you all here because we have learned that the gover-
nor is planning to attack the Deceangli.”
“To attack us, you mean,” put in Divitiac, who had been chief
Druid to the Durotriges before the Romans came. He had been spirited
away as the legions were marching into Tancoric’s dun, and his limbs
trembled, though his mind was still strong. “Whatever toleration the
Romans had for us is ended. The new governor is killing those of our
Order wherever he finds them. We are all that remain, and the Decean-
gli guard the path around the north coast that any invader must take to
come here.”
“We must flee!” whispered a priestess who had been with the
Belgae, and sometimes woke sobbing in the night from nightmares.
“We must take ship for Eriu. The Irish Druids are strong and will
welcome us.”
“And where will we go after that—the Blessed Isles?” asked Cunitor
with grim humor.
“One way or another we will all come there in the end,” murmured
Belina.
“If we run now we will never stop,” objected Cunitor. “Caratac is
still fighting, and there are still tribes that have not bent the knee to
Rome. If we can stir them up to rebellion, the Romans will leave the
Deceangli alone.”
For now, thought Lhiannon, but she did not say so aloud.
“My kin among the Brigante clans are not happy with Cartiman-
dua’s friendship with the Romans,” Cunitor said. “Perhaps I can per-
suade them that now is the time to make their feelings known . . .”
“Caratac needs to know that we are behind him,” said Lugovalos.
“I will go to him,” said Ardanos. “I have worked with him before.”
“You are still recovering from your wounds, and you have a fam-
ily,” Helve said firmly. “You are needed here.”
I can see where this is going, thought Lhiannon. No doubt she and Lugovalos
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decided on this course before the rest of us arrived. But she had no desire to resist
their manipulation. She had endured the constriction of winter, but she did
not think she could bear to be in the same place as Ardanos when all the
world rejoiced at the coming of spring.
“Send me—” She smiled blandly at Helve. “Caratac saved me from
death or worse. I owe him what help I can give.”
“I will go with her,” came another voice. She looked up in surprise
as she recognized Brangenos, a shade more gray and thin, but otherwise
unchanged. “A wandering bard passes everywhere, and I have training
as a healer as well.”
Lhiannon frowned. She remembered how he had sung for King
Togodumnos before the battle on the Tamesa. And she had heard of
him among the Durotriges when Vespasian was laying waste to their
lands. A bird of ill omen was this raven son. What disasters do you expect
to celebrate when we are with Caratac, bard?
“That is settled, then. And we will ask among the younger priests to
carry word elsewhere . . .” rumbled Lugovalos.
As the others rose to take their leave, Helve beckoned to Lhiannon.
“
We have never been friends,” said the High Priestess when they
were alone. “But believe me when I say that I am not sending you on
this mission to get rid of you.”
No? wondered Lhiannon. I thought it might be because I threaten your
influence on Coventa. She continued to smile.
“Whatever rivalry divided us in the past, we must work together
now,” Helve went on. “You have great abilities, and the Goddess knows
how badly we need every man and woman of power! I have no choice
but to employ whatever tools I have, regardless of the cost. Neither you
nor I matter, nor Ardanos, nor Coventa, nor Lugovalos, if by sacrifi ce
we can save our tradition.”
Lhiannon opened her awareness a little and was surprised to sense
only sincerity. Helve believed what she was saying, and it might even be
true. Perhaps she was growing into her job.
“I understand.” For the first time she accorded the High Priestess a
respectful nod.
“Stay safe, Lhiannon, and come back to us when your task is done.”
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Boudica dreamed that she was walking on a narrow path through
thickly forested hills, surrounded by men who carried swords. Their
clothing was grimed with mud and blood, a fanatical glint lit their eyes.
Before her marched Lhiannon, as dirty as any of the others, but looking
fi t and hard.
In the valley below lay a farmstead. Silently the warriors surrounded
it. She glimpsed Caratac among them. As someone lit a torch his golden
torque gleamed. They leaped to the attack, shrilling Silure war cries.
Men ran out of the houses. Women screamed as the thatch caught fi re.
Soon there was more blood, and bodies lying on the ground. And then
the attackers were retreating, some carrying livestock or sacks of grain.
As they went by, Lhiannon turned and seemed to see Boudica at last.
“So shall we serve all who bend the knee to Rome . . .”
Boudica realized she had been weeping when she opened her eyes
and saw her husband’s worried frown. It must be morning. The door of
their house at Teutodunon was open, and sunlight was fi ltering through
the red-and-yellow striped curtains that surrounded the bed place.
“You cried out—are you in pain?”
“A nightmare,” she mumbled, wiping her eyes. “It’s already going,”
she lied, for she knew that she would remember this dream. Her youn-
gest brother Braci and Caratac’s brother Epilios had joined the rebellion
the year before. But in the dream the Britons seemed to be winning. If
Lhiannon had been here she would have asked her for an interpreta-
tion. Had the priestess sent the dream, and if so was it a reproof or a
warning?
“Come here and kiss the nightmare away,” She pulled him back
down, fitting her body against his in the way that had become accus-
tomed in the two years since she had truly been his queen. He chuckled
and nuzzled her neck, one hand sliding across her breast. She could feel
his content, and his desire. Why had it taken her so long to realize that
Prasutagos was most eloquent when he was silent?
“Mama, Papa! Bogle’s got a hare!”
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Prasutagos rolled away as the curtains were jerked back and a red-
headed blur bounced onto the bed between them. Boudica blinked and
reached out in an attempt to hold her daughter still.
“He caught it out on the heath an’ brought it home. The puppies are
fi ghting over it now!”
Boudica exchanged an exasperated look with her husband, who
laughed and eased out of the bed, feeling around for the tunic he had
stripped off so unceremoniously the night before. What did it mean, she
wondered, when your clan totem was hunted down by your dog? It was
bound to happen, she supposed, if they allowed Bogle and his numerous
off spring to range the heathlands while they were in residence at her fa-
ther’s old dun.
“Rigana! Rigana—is the child there with you?”
Prasutagos hastily pulled his tunic the rest of the way down as
Boudica’s mother hurried in.
“I’m so sorry, dears, did she wake you?” her mother said. “She runs
so fast, you know.”
“Yes. It’s all right, Mama,” said Boudica. “I was getting up anyway.”
“I thought you might be,” said the older woman. “The smith is here
already with the new coins for the king to approve.” Since Boudica’s
father died, Anaveistl had coped fairly well, but sometimes she forgot
that she was no longer the queen.
Boudica hugged Rigana, delighting in the firm limbs and the fl ower
scent of her hair. “Is your little sister awake, sprout?” The two girls slept
with their grandmother and their nurses in the next roundhouse, close
enough so that Boudica could hear if someone cried.
As if the question had been a signal, Nessa came through the door
leading Argantilla, who had just begun to toddle, by the hand. Smil-
ing like a sunrise, the smaller girl, as golden and gentle as her sister
was fiery and active, clambered into the bed to join Rigana for a
morning snuggle before their parents were distracted by the demands
of the day.
Breakfast beneath the spreading branches of the oak tree was a time to
receive reports and plan the day. This morning they had silver coins with
their porridge—the first of the new issue bearing a Roman-style image of
the ruler on one side, and the legend “Subri Esvprasto Esico Fecit,” with the
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horse totem of the Iceni, on the other. Esico might have minted them for
Prasutagos, but far too many of those coins would have to go to the Ro-
mans in taxes. Others might be paid to chieftains who had collected pro-
duce from their clans to feed the Romans’
never-ending need for
supplies.
Esico the coiner, a little dark man with missing teeth and an air of
confidence that came from knowing his skills would be needed who-
ever was in power, also traded in information. His fi rst off ering was the
news that the governor, finding his resources overstretched, was moving
the Twentieth Legion from Camulodunum to a place near the head of
the Sabrina estuary where they could keep an eye on the Silures.
“They are withdrawing all their forces from the Trinovante lands?”
asked Prasutagos.
“Not exacthly,” lisped Esico. “They mean to turn the fort into a
Roman-type town and fill it with old tholdierth. ‘Victory colony,’ they
call it.” He spat out the words. “Already they levy men to help with the
building—an’ with harvetht coming on—” He shook his head. “The
Trinovante ain’t happy, but what can they do?”
What can any of us do, thought Boudica, but carry on?
“Romans set great store on impressive buildings . . .” Prasutagos
said slowly as Esico departed. “They consider them a mark of civiliza-
tion.” Boudica eyed him suspiciously, recognizing the enthusiastic gleam
in his eye.
“The Romans will never allow us to build fortifications. Just what,”
she added carefully, “did you have in mind?”
“Nothing in stone . . .” he said quickly. “Nothing they’d consider a
threat. But I was remembering the way the Romans put a second story
on their houses, and I think we could build a roundhouse that way, with
two tiers.” Boudica blinked. She could not imagine what he was talking
about, but it was obvious that Prasutagos could see it clearly. “We’ll
clear out some of the buildings in the enclosure—move the weaving
sheds into an adjacent yard and give the mint its own wall. Make a nice
neat bank and ditch around the house here.”
“Do you mean to challenge King Cogidubnos?” She laughed. “At
Noviomagus he’s building a Roman palace.”
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He shook his head. “This will be purely Celtic, just . . . bigger.” He
grinned.
Boudica sighed. The rise on which Teutodunon lay was high
enough to give her a good view of the river, with the heathland golden
in the morning sun beyond. The peace of the scene made the violence
of her night visions seem even more unreal—or was this the dream? As
she sighed, Bogle lifted his great head from one of her feet to lay it
upon the other. She wiggled her toes to restore circulation. The dog,
having made his contribution to the community’s food supply, clearly
felt entitled to a rest.
In another moment, however, Bogle raised his head again, ears prick-
ing, then heaved himself out from under the table and took a few steps
toward the gate.
“Are we expecting guests?” inquired Prasutagos. The dog had shown
an uncanny ability to distinguish between approaching strangers and the
folk who belonged here.
“They are friends, apparently,” observed Boudica as the plumed tail
began to gently wave.
In a few minutes one of the warriors on guard came trotting through
the gate to report three women and a man riding up the road.
“They don’t sound too dangerous,” said Prasutagos, stroking his
mustache to hide a smile. “Why don’t you go welcome them in?”
Curiosity gave way to wonder as the three women appeared in the
gateway. Boudica had hoped to see Lhiannon, but the curly yellow head
of the fi rst fi gure was nearly as welcome.
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