Iceni

Chapter 3-2

‘They also build theatre, senate-house, roads and forum. They make census and tax us too high. They take our weapons so no fighting allowed. We must buy our grain from them at the cost they say.’ The Iceni around him nodded their heads in empathy. ‘What they did to Iceni very, very bad, but not good what do to Trinovantes. I think our own fault. We so pleased to have them stop Catuvellauni fight us, we thank Romani, but we not that thankful. We would fight now, fight or be swallowed, we have no choice. Iceni have no choice, if you go back you be like Trinovantes.

‘Romani frightened of Druid. Very scared of what Britannia people can do with their minds, they not like Otherworld. But they not frightened of Celtoi, they build no ramparts, no palisade, all Colonia open.’

There was silence after Addedomarus had spoken. Boudicca had found listening to the faltering speech difficult and was still trying to unravel all the strands. She had heard of the Temple of Claudius at Camulodunum from the Romani diplomats who had been stationed near the place she had called home up until a few moons ago. She knew it was meant to be magnificent and finely wrought by master craftsmen. She’d also heard that it was a symbol of everything the Romani were bringing to Britannia — culture, health, education, wealth, peace... extortion, mass slavery, poverty, degradation and oppression. She was trying very hard to imagine what the Colonia must look like; it was very hard to conceive of buildings that were so impractically large. Such buildings, she reflected, would take an age to heat and would never feel cosy to live in.

‘Maeve will show us.’ Sucellus spoke up.

‘Of course she may, if she so wishes,’ Lovernios smiled at Maeve benignly, encouraging her to come forward. Maeve lifted the shallow basin, careful not to spill any water. She set it down at Lovernios’ feet and sat opposite him. ‘I had hoped that good would come of ill and this violation might be your making, Sister.’

Maeve passed her left hand over the water, once, twice, thrice. There, by the flickering embers of the forge fires, she Scryed into the still surface waters, willing the images to arise. As the last tiniest ripple cleared, Boudicca gasped aloud. Around her there were mumbles and sighs of astonishment as the others also saw what was happening. Boudicca had expected her daughter to Scry for herself and narrate what she saw in a sing-song distant voice as visionaries before her had done. But there was no need. Maeve had Scryed so strongly that the scenes were reflected from the bowl for all to see.

There, right before them, were the immense buildings of Camulodunum, the confiscated gold, the toiling Trinovantes. The Colonia was built for giants, not for people, it was a place of wonderment, a miracle of structure. Boudicca was amazed at what she saw, but furious too, that they were capable of such fine edifices yet still coveted the rude huts of the Iceni.

Maeve couldn’t hold the image for long but it was enough to supplement Addedomarus’s description.

‘Now, will you host as I requested?’ Lovernios’ question shook her out of her reverie. For a moment Boudicca had been lost to her inner self. Then Maeve spoke, giving Boudicca longer to form a reply.

‘Watch! There is more.’ The images commenced again, rolling over the waters. They saw a triumphant war host sweep over the land, rising from the east, leaving destruction in its wake. They saw warriors with spiked hair and woad tattoos dance naked into battle, pirouetting upon chariots and somersaulting into the fray. Fearless of death they fought, tearing the enemy apart, and children with evil faces despatched the fallen with sharp little daggers. Every face wore the same gloating, vengeful expression which stirred familiar memories in every Iceni sat around. It was the likeness of their war Goddess: Andraste. She rose behind the hoard, spurring them on to total victory. She charged ahead of them in the form of a hare, leading them on to fresh slaughter.

The visions faded, leaving the Iceni awestruck. Boudicca caught them a little longer, straining to see before they dwindled completely. She saw the Goddess hot in Her battle lust turn upon everything and everyone, indiscriminate in Her desire for flesh. She saw the leaping little hare change direction. Then she saw water again and felt the stirring within as if some sort of birthing was taking place. On this occasion a bubble burst free and something other than herself used her mouth to announce: ‘We fight. How soon?’

Lovernios studied her. ‘Not yet.’ He looked worried. ‘Push Her back down, madam.’ Boudicca felt a flutter like trapped wings and then the sensations were gone. She felt wrapped in a cold sweat. Lovernios gave her an ‘are you all right?’ smile. She nodded to reassure him.

Grania had leapt up. ‘If we’re invoking Andraste, then we should ready the Groves.’ She licked her lips.

‘There’s no need to return to the Old Ways,’ it was Sucellus. ‘I’ve been busy fashioning sacrifices from the gold you’ve loaned me, there’s plenty to appease the Goddess. She always receives any given here most graciously. There’s no greater sacrifice.’

‘Andraste will demand blood. If that’s the form the Goddess chooses, then be prepared to give it. I know the sort of death She’ll demand.’ Grania had worked herself up into quite a frenzy. There was no response, everyone sat stunned by her outburst. She sat, and let out the faintest sob, then she turned and ran crying from the camp, into the trees. Lovernios looked after her in pity. Boudicca rose to follow her.

‘Madam,’ Lovernios called softly. ‘Give her comfort. Her healing is beginning. Then return. I know it’s late but I must talk with you, alone.’

Boudicca ran to keep up with her daughter, leaping over the indistinct bodies which slept near the fire and the sharp knolls of coppiced birch. Somehow she kept her footing, bounding after the wailing left by Grania as a trail. Almost as soon as she left the orange glow of the forge fires she was engulfed by the full force of night but still she blundered onwards after the weeping that seemed to rend the very forest in two. She cursed Grania under her breath for her daughter’s lack of control and for being forced into a darkness she had no wish to explore. She objected to being pulled down unwillingly into the depths of Grania’s animal despair. Boudicca also knew that only she would be accepted by Grania now and that if she deserted her daughter, she would never have the chance to reach her again, her daughter would be lost for ever and she would regret her inaction for the rest of her life.

The awkward sobbing still seemed a long way off but it had stopped moving away. Boudicca was led deeper into the woods. This seemed to be no Finding; tree branches didn’t swing up and out of her path, instead they snared her cloak and scratched her face. For a while she still felt the burning heat of the fires upon her cheeks but before long the black air laid icy fingers upon her. She started to call out, screaming Grania’s name over and over until she was hoarse and breathless. Then finally a little way ahead a weak voice acknowledged: ‘Here I am, mama. I’m frightened.’

Boudicca stumbled forward. ‘Keep talking to me, daughter-mine, mama can’t see a thing.’

‘Over here, mama.’

Boudicca stepped to the right.

‘Mama here.’

Boudicca swung back to the left.

‘Mama, mama, where are you?’

The call was from behind. Boudicca froze. There were tricking, trapping old things in the forest who needed to be approached with courtesy and caution, if at all. There were many, many manifestations of the Goddess and the spirits which she didn’t understand, but which she had definitely heard of and which needed to be paid respect. In an instant she felt truly unprotected, at the mercy of the instincts of this primeval forest. Silently she reprimanded herself for not placing Wards upon her person. Caught up in her panic and concern for Grania, she’d hurtled into potential danger without thought for the consequences.

Quickly she Warded herself, imagining light radiating from her ethereal body as if she had grown armour. Immediately she felt safer, many little threats evaporating, warned off by her power. Then she called for True-sight, asking for clarity of vision. Gradually the darkness lifted, just a fraction, in what seemed like one circle of her sight. There, as if a hole had been cut out of a sack that covered her, the moon, waning to a crescent, slunk out from behind dense cloud to offer gradual illumination and she could see she had wandered into the wide mouth of a cave.

As Grania called once more, her fresh awareness brought understanding of how Grania’s voice had reverberated off the rock to produce the disorientating effect fed by Boudicca’s fear and confusion. Lit by the moon’s bright shining, she went to her daughter and knelt, holding her tightly to reassure her through her racking convulsions of utter despair.

‘Mama, mama, I’m frightened. I’m so angry, I want to kill and maim and rend and tear and torture and hurt. I want to destroy everything.’ Grania scratched at her face and pulled at Boudicca’s robe. ‘I hate so much. I don’t understand these new feelings inside of me, they seem to career away without my control. What should I do with them? Express them and let them ride where they will, or deny them? Oh mama-mama, I’m so confused, it doesn’t feel like it’s me at all any more. I’m not a nasty person, I feel so small and young. I try to be good but all the while I feel men’s eyes upon me knowing what was done to me and I hear voices filling me with anger and I don’t understand, oh mama-mama help me, please...’

Grania was rambling. Boudicca flew inside her head for a fleeting instant to identify the symptoms she observed. Grania’s mind was governed by chaos, too distorted and twisted for Boudicca to want to spend more than a fleeting moment within it. Had Grania concentrated upon learning the Craft, she might have known herself better and understood the mazes and patterns that her psyche was spinning in order to enable each emotion to have a turn at expressing itself. Then she might have been able to unravel and mend the strands herself. But this was not the place for recriminations.

Grania needed love and support and an opportunity to heal. Sadly, Boudicca reflected, that seemed increasingly unlikely now. She’d given Grania those opportunities, or at least thought she had. The anger and bitter temper Grania had demonstrated after her ordeal so far was now proving to be only the surface of a seemingly bottomless cavern. Normally Boudicca would have encouraged her to eject all the rage, now she wasn’t too sure whether they were dealing with a finite quantity. For the sake of her daughter, and perhaps for those around, she had to be careful not to misinterpret what was going on for Grania internally.

She held her daughter tight and rocked her. She prayed within whilst doing so. Then she heard the calm voice, low in her mind, and recognised the Divine: ‘Let her loosen the reins. There is no other option, even though she travels the borders betwixt life and death. She exudes part of My nature that will not be denied, and there is no other suitable receptacle.’

Boudicca smoothed her daughter’s hair and tried to comfort her with gentle words of reassurance. She felt false in the attempt as if she betrayed her child, encouraging hope when she suspected there might be none to be found. Already, well within the space of a lunar cycle, a wedge had been driven between herself and her daughters. Where once they’d been so close, they now seemed isolated each from the other. There was a thin line between being the Goddess’ chosen ones and being the pawns in some celestial game where only the Goddess and Her Druids knew the rules. She doubted the prudence of the course that seemed to be being plotted for herself and her daughters, let alone for the tribe. What wild unknowns would be unwittingly released, what dark paths might they be forced to tread? She almost wished she had never birthed her twins, if it was only to bring them into such peril.