Iceni

Chapter 9-3

The riders, however, were definitely Celtoi. So much was obvious from their cheerful chequered clothing, augmented by the odd item of Romani military issue, and the way they handled their weapons. Not even a Romani spy would have the audacity to walk into this hornets’ nest and, anyway, the language they called out in greeting was familiar, without any hint of an accent. Boudicca peered at them, squinting a little so she might be able to determine any familiar faces or hear their voices.

Grania was back! At last! Boudicca gathered up the folds of her clothing and pelted back along the road, through the Colonia gate and along the ruined streets. As she neared the temple area she pulled at her throat to loosen her robes and revealed the Otherworldly glow of her torc. As the first bystanders caught sight of the object, they moved aside to provide passage and nudged their fellows to do the same. Boudicca nodded in gratitude to them, astounded by the instant change Andraste’s torc provoked.

Now she was back as Queen and Priestess, as war leader, a quick change from one role to another. She wondered briefly whether she alarmed any of her people by her unquenchable need to be an individual separate from the mass, then reflected that probably the only person to be affected was Lovernios and he wouldn’t dare question her. She stumbled upon him more or less where she’d left him earlier. He was sharing a simple meal of stolen bread with Maeve and Sucellus. Grania had still not joined them.

‘Grania’s back.’

‘She hasn’t come here yet, madam,’ Lovernios mumbled through a mouthful of loaf.

‘Where can she have got to then? She was on horseback, she should’ve been here before me.’

‘Some riders did come in. But they just joined whoever their respective Chiefs were and reported to them. I should get the information relayed to me by the Druids before long. No hurry, have something to eat, madam.’

‘But what about Grania? I want to see my daughter, hear the information she must’ve gained. Did no one see where she went?’

‘Madam, calm down. We’re in no immediate danger. We can wait awhile for Grania’s news. Perhaps she’s unpacking, or washing, or tending to her horse.’ Lovernios shrugged and popped another morsel in his mouth.

‘Get someone to send for her.’ Boudicca walked up and down a few paces, unaware her fists were clenching and unclenching. ‘No. No. I’ll do it. I’ll go and find her myself. Anyway, aren’t you curious about where I’ve been all this while?’

She stamped off without waiting for an answer.

Disappearing into the crowd, she sought out any of the riders she’d just seen return. She could not understand the language of some of them and, becoming more and more infuriated, she demanded, no, requested nearby Druids to translate for her. They were so careful, every one of them, questioning the warriors precisely, wanting to prepare a translation as exact as possible, before uttering it to Boudicca. She felt like screaming: ‘It doesn’t matter. I only want the gist, get on with it.’ But somehow she contained herself, trying to remember that as far as these translators were concerned, their skill was Goddess-given and she was asking them to provide their version of a holy act. She was also desperately trying to hang on to the idea that these people were still just people, individuals like herself. Her needs might be paramount to her, but they were only a means to an end for those who served her.

Finally she had the information she needed and she pushed through the crowds once more to the place where she’d been told she might find Grania. Traipsing around the streets, kicking orphaned stones, she was alone again. Just any mother looking for her child, although recently, she knew, there’d been many more of the latter forlornly looking for the former.

It did not take her long to reach where she had been told to go. The building was the second largest after the Temple and its precinct, and had a distinctive semi-circular plan discernable even from the ground. Boudicca wasn’t really too surprised to learn of Grania’s stay there. On hindsight, if she had only applied a little Romani logic to the situation, she might have been able to work out for herself that Grania would have made straight for the Romani’s theatre.

There were several entrances. Boudicca chose one; she knew it would not matter which, as they all led to the same place. She crept under the ornamental arch, keeping her footfall as noiseless as possible. Wanting what? To eavesdrop on her daughter, to surprise her, or equally to not frighten her? Boudicca herself didn’t know; somehow secrecy just felt appropriate, as if there was an air of it all around.

Edging forward, she peeped out from behind the stone wall which would bring her into the view of anyone in the theatre. She could just make out the tiers of seats rising to surround the elevated stage. Grania was nowhere to be seen. Just as Boudicca was about to stride into the theatre for a better appreciation of the architecture, albeit produced by a Romani architect, she caught a hint of movement behind the stage. Grania was burrowing amidst some rubble, hiding something — a sack perhaps, or a rough bag, Boudicca couldn’t tell from this distance. What she could see, quite plainly, were Grania’s hands completely covered in blood.

Just as fervidly, Grania scrambled off the stage and scampered out of the theatre, apparently not caring now whether she might be seen or heard. Her fleeing feet sent echoes of sound bouncing off the theatre to herald her departure. Boudicca turned and ran back the way she had come, hoping to cut her daughter off as she headed for the temple precinct. Boudicca had not given her own actions much thought up to now, responding purely to her instincts in trying to ascertain what Grania was up to. Now she did, hoping Grania might never know what she’d seen and would interpret her sudden appearance purely as that of a distraught mother come to greet her long awaited daughter.

Boudicca contrived to weave back through the narrow streets and double-back to bump into Grania, feigning surprise at finding her daughter there when they collided. She hugged Grania, exclaiming at her return, and started to ask her what had happened to the remains of the legion nine. Grania briefly returned the hug and broadly started to describe what had occurred, regaining her composure extremely rapidly.

‘We did as you said, mother mine, and followed the remnants of the cavalry back along the Via Devena, hollowing loudly and sounding our war trumpets all the way. They barely looked back the whole while, so fearful were they for their very lives.’

‘How far did you chase them?’

‘Through Durovigutum, pausing only to rout that settlement.’

Boudicca looked shocked.

‘Mama, you should be pleased, they were Catuvellauni.’

‘There really weren’t enough of you to take such a risk, Grania.’

‘Most of them scattered as soon as they saw the Romani hurtle towards them. It was the legionaries who did most of the scare mongering for us. The pro-Romani settlers fled before our eyes, all we had to do was stick a few defenceless backs and slit a few awnings as we passed. We didn’t even pause to make sure the fires had caught. There was enough smoke to suggest they had, though.’

Boudicca couldn’t help grinning at Grania. She was quite proud of her daughter for taking such initiative, even though she worried now about the unnecessary risks she might also have taken.

‘Well, I still wish you’d told me you were going to do those things.’

‘You wouldn’t have let me then, mama.’

Boudicca smiled, Grania was growing up.

‘Anyway, we were only taking advantage of the opportunity afforded us — none of us knew the legionaries were going to be so panicky, did we?’

‘I don’t expect even Lovernios had thought of that,’ Boudicca mused, half to herself. ‘You followed the Romani further then?’

‘Oh yes, all the way to their fortress at Durobrivae. You should have seen them desperately digging their defences and rallying those they’d left behind. Suddenly they were all go, standing to attention, issuing contradictory orders, grabbing weapons. They’re quite amusing when they have to deal with chaos. I don’t think they were very pleased to see how few their pursuers were, though.’

‘You let them see you?’

‘Oh yes, mama. We turned our horses around and around to show them how well they preferred to be owned by Celtoi. We stood along the skyline, antagonising them and flouting our victory, then we turned and melted into the woods, Finding our way back here within moments.’

Boudicca wasn’t learning anything she wouldn’t have been able to work out for herself. Grania was evasive if anything, and there was that feeling again, of a desire to be secretive and keep things to oneself. Boudicca realised she was starting to pick up Grania’s own emotions. Their relationship had always been close, until recently. Now she knew intuitively that Grania was not telling her everything.

‘I’m very proud of you; you’ve done well. We celebrate Eostar tonight. With so many Druids it should be quite a festival. I wish you to join me as Priestess.’

Grania’s face dropped, and she made as if she would protest.

‘It’d mean a lot to me, Grania, and to our people. All you’d have to do is stand with me. Tomorrow we’ll make preparations to leave these ruins, but we’re not yet sure which road we’ll take or where it’ll lead. I hope that will become apparent during our rituals tonight.’

‘But mama!’ Grania started to protest. Boudicca quietened her by raising her hand.

‘Before we go, we must ensure everything is destroyed that can be destroyed; it’s taking too long with our current methods. The main problem’s these larger buildings,’ she gestured around. ‘The Temple isn’t a worry. The Trinovantes will erase it even if they have to chip away at it for a year. No, it’s the forum, the theatre, some of the larger houses.’ She watched her daughter carefully for any betrayal of emotion. Nothing. ‘Fires will have to be built against them to crack the stone and make it easier to lever the walls down. Tiles will need to be smashed, decorations will need to be defaced. Everything in them will need to be razed.’ Still nothing from Grania. ‘Will you do it for me? Will you be in charge of such responsible work?’

‘Of course, mama.’ No protest, no requests. Whatever Grania had hidden, as carefully as if building a nest, she had no concerns about it during the destruction process. Was it something capable of surviving the flames? Something she no longer cared for? ‘If you like, I’ll start on the theatre straight away.’ Or perhaps something she’d arranged for someone else to remove even now whilst she talked to her mother?

Boudicca was confused. Grania’s face and words revealed nothing. Only this all-pervading atmosphere of something being kept back. Something secret of Grania’s was not being shared with her mama. Boudicca had to let it go, she had no choice. To do otherwise would drive a wedge between the two of them where already there existed a dreadful gulf. She could have Grania watched; she could have the theatre guarded. No, there should be trust between the two of them; it was natural for things to be kept separate between mother and daughter, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it all part of growing from girl to woman?

She leapt then, a jump of faith in her trust that Grania was not intrinsically bad and her daughter’s secret hoard was something of her business and hers alone. ‘It’d be appreciated, Grania.’ She forced out the words. ‘The sooner there’s nothing Romani left here, the sooner we can be after more of their blood. Procure the labour you require — you have my authority in this matter.’

The two women clasped hands in farewell and smiled at each other. Then they both turned and walked away. Boudicca forced herself to keep walking, not wanting to look back in case Grania interpreted her action as spying. She’d just about mastered her natural inquisitiveness and concentrated her mind upon the forthcoming Eostar rites, when she heard Grania call out.

Boudicca swung around, not pausing to worry about interfering now, and dashed back to her daughter. Grania hadn’t moved from where they’d separated except to double up, clutching her stomach. Boudicca wrapped a protective arm around her back, trying to pull Grania upright as she did so. Boudicca took a lot of her daughter’s weight as Grania relaxed into her mother’s arms, obviously in agony.

Grania’s face had whitened and was twisted in spasms of pain which weakened her body. She called out again, a grunting sigh, as if she hoped to eject the torment along with the sound.

‘Mama, mama, help me!’ she screamed, and Boudicca heard other Celtoi come running to offer assistance.

‘Tell me where the pain is, Grania mine.’

Still doubled over, Grania pushed her hands from her abdomen to reveal the blood starting to seep through her clothing.

‘Mother Above! Are you injured?’

‘No mama,’ voice weak now. ‘It’s my menses.’

There was quite a crowd forming. Boudicca shooed them back to allow Grania air. ‘Do you usually bleed so much? No, let me take your weight.’

Grania groaned again, lower now, as if the pain came from deep within her womb itself. She sagged into her mother’s arms. Boudicca wondered in admiration how long Grania had been in so much agony without betraying a hint of it to her.

‘No, mama mine, not this bad usually.’ Another groan, as if her body was responding to contractions which brought the pain to irregular peaks. ‘I’m sorry, mama, I didn’t want you to know.’ Gasping words now, little more than deep breathing.

‘Know what? What?’ The crowd edged closer, fencing them in.

‘Oh, mama, mama. Don’t hate me, please mama. I didn’t mean to.’

Boudicca blanched. Had Grania done this to herself in some way? She gripped her daughter tighter, as if to squeeze the information out of her.

Grania started to swoon. Just before passing out, Boudicca heard her fragile whisper: ‘I think I’m losing my baby.’