Iceni

Chapter 7-2

‘Once or twice.’ Boudicca shrugged, uncertain at what point Lovernios was trying to make.

‘And what did you think, madam?’

‘What is there to think? The ones I met didn’t utter a squeak during the whole encounter. They barely moved. I suspect their make-up was so thick and their hair so ornamental and their clothes so elaborate they couldn’t.’

‘So they didn’t frighten you then? Didn’t chill your bones to the very marrow?’

‘Only in as much as seeing what I myself might have become had I continued to embrace this stinking Romani so-called civilisation.’

‘I see. And what emotional effect, madam, do you hope to procure in your enemy when you come charging upon them with your bright cloak flying and your red hair streaming behind and your spears brandished in your strong arms?’

‘I hope to turn their stomachs to liquid that they might mess themselves, change their hearts to stone that they might know the meaning of defeat, and chill their bones to the very marrow in comprehending total and utter terror.’ Boudicca hesitated, realising what she’d just said.

‘And having seen you in action myself, I’m very sure that’s exactly the effect you do produce. But, for the Romani, it’s not very feminine behaviour.’

‘Well, I can’t imagine one of their matrons acting like that, either.’

‘They still find it hard to believe how any woman could act like that.’

‘I think they’ll get used to it. I’m not the only one. You may have noticed.’

‘Indeed. But the point is, madam, they’re not used to it yet, and therein lies our advantage.’

‘So, what you’re trying to say, in your usual round-about way, is that the higher the proportion of male to female warriors in our horde, the more intimidating they find our force.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But that’s ridiculous. Everyone knows women make better warriors than men — look at Scathach who trained the great Cuchulainn, or even Aoife whom Scathach sent him to defeat. Even our Goddesses are more ferocious than our Gods — Andraste, of course, and the Morrigan. I could go on.’

‘Certainly, I too would expect the Romani to have learned from their own history and have remembered Cleopatra, or even from Greek history, which they are so fond of, with Artemisia.’ Boudicca looked puzzled. ‘They were women who once commanded great armies, with some success, against mighty empires,’ Lovernios explained, then thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps they were bad examples to choose.’

‘Didn’t they win?’

Lovernios hesitated and covered himself quickly. ‘They didn’t throw themselves into the thick of battle with quite the same enthusiasm as you, madam. They were more like military commanders than warriors, whereas you embody both traits.’ Boudicca didn’t push the point but felt certain Lovernios wasn’t telling her the full truth.

‘Essentially then, what you’re suggesting is that if we take a higher proportion of women warriors, say most of the Ladies and chiefs’ wives, to ambush this legion nine, leaving a majority of male warriors to guard the Temple, it won’t appear to the Romani trapped here that much of the siege has been lifted.’

‘That’s right, madam. We use their preconceptions against them. And the beauty of it is that the ambush will attack so fast the soldiers of legion nine won’t have a chance to register that they’re beset by a force which is mainly female. So we’ll be using our resources in the best way: effectively doubling our numbers.’

Boudicca nodded, thinking through the ideas Lovernios was leading her to formulate. ‘I like it, Lovernios. It serves the Romani right for being so narrow-minded. As long as the Goddess’ hare leads me in this direction I’ll follow and I’ll wreak destruction where it pulls me. If She wills it, I’ll lead your detachment out tomorrow evening to ambush and destroy any forces that might march to attack us. How can we fear defeat when the womenfolk take up arms? We’ll return with our gory trophies of war and parade before this Temple of Claudius. The Romani we’ve trapped in there will die with all their prejudices turned upside down and the Celtoi women will never be underestimated by the Romani men again. You’ll see.

‘But for now...’ Boudicca was mindful of the present and the feeling of anticipation around them. ‘Please bring those who’ve won the right to the champion’s portion to me and ensure the celebrations continue all through the night with music and song and story-telling. Then I must talk to Maeve, if she’ll listen. Together we’ll Scry the flames for the hare, and perhaps that way, at least, we can recover some of our former intimacy. I still worry so about her. Grania seems to be fine, especially now the blood letting has begun, but with Maeve there’s so very little change. She’s calmed down considerably since Sucellus took over her welfare but there’s no sign her trauma has started to heal. Lovernios, I desperately want to reach her.’

‘You can, but keep trying, madam. I commend you for your efforts when you’ve so many other demands upon you. I’ll bring to you those champions whom you request. Put on a show for your peoples — that’s what they want to see — then be alone with your daughter.’

‘Before you go, my lover, share my bed tonight?’

Lovernios squeezed her hand and smiled his promise, then he left to find those who were to be presented with the finest cuts of roasted meat, carved by their war Queen herself.

While she waited, Boudicca arranged herself regally upon the cloths that had been arranged for her comfort, plumping up a few cushions to give herself more support. She still carried the golden knife that had been presented before she left Artio’s woods, and wondered whether she should use it to cut the meat. She pushed it away back into the folds of her robes again, not realising until then that it had just worked its way into her hands. It itched to be used. Perhaps Fand would bring her something to provide the opportunity.

When the champions came they arrived drunk and sweaty. Boudicca wasn’t in the slightest bit surprised to see Grania amongst the men and women who’d been picked for their display of prowess at arms. They held their heads high, as well they deserved, and there were whoops and calls of praise as they played to their audience.

A steaming pig was lifted off the fire where it had been roasting and, still dripping with fatty juices, it was laid before Boudicca. Taking up a sword from each warrior in turn, she cut thick, generous hunks from the haunches of the animal, stuck the meat with the point of the sword and passed it back to the owner. She paused in her carving only once when Grania passed her a bloodied sword. Boudicca handed it back to her daughter, saying, ‘Grania mine, you know better than to not clean a sword after a kill, please wipe it.’

Grania did so, for once without any retort. The blood was fresh and left smears upon her daughter’s trousers. Boudicca felt herself staring at the stains for longer than was proper before she tore her gaze away and continued cutting meat. Then every champion held their prize aloft for a moment before bowing to their Queen and gnawing at the meat they’d won as their right. It was a great honour. Boudicca felt like an immense mother, dishing out food to her many, many children; but this was more than mere food, this represented a deeper type of sustenance and Boudicca felt the tug upon her spirit as she re-enacted a ceremony which had been performed by her people for many generations.

The carcass had offered up the choicest cuts, but still plenty of meat remained. Behind the warriors, at a discreet distance, hovered the looters who’d promised to destroy the Romani house with its hateful little effigy. Boudicca beckoned them forward. ‘Have you done what I asked?’ They all nodded their nervous heads, aware of her royalty more so now than when they’d met before. ‘Then you’ve done well and are worthy to be served by your Queen now for having served her faithfully before. Here’s your meat, eat and drink all you will with me tonight.’

Suddenly there was a tremendous roar of applause from the crowd who’d heard her words, a cheering beyond even that heard for the champions. It was a rallying cry to unify spirits and lift hearts, and Boudicca felt euphoria at being at the centre of such accolade. She swam with the sound, letting it lift her with its heady praise until she felt quite light-headed.

Then, with her Goddess insight, she understood how in praising these looters, she’d done more for Celtoi oneness than anything Lovernios had devised. These were the little people, the smallholders and petty crafts-folk, those who were very rarely noticed by the nobility, let alone acknowledged as individuals in their own right with their own feelings and daily worries. But they were the mainstay of the land, the backbone of the horde. Rich only in numbers, lacking decent weaponry or armour, perhaps hoping to acquire some from still warm Romani corpses as the destruction progressed, nevertheless these tribes-folk had left everything they’d known to answer a cause they could barely understand.

Boudicca’s heart went out to them as she was swept upwards by their support. Then she felt something like ravens’ wings rise majestically from her sides and wrap all the massed people before her in a protective fold of her own manufacture and she realised she was conferring the Goddess’ Blessing upon all who’d come to Her. For all who gathered and for all who were still travelling to gather, this rebellion had just been transformed into a crusade with deeper meaning than simply the expulsion of the Romani. The feeling of mission from everyone in the Temple precinct rolled over Boudicca like a wave of almost tangible emotion which visibly rocked her. Her reaction was extreme, she knew, because of her heightened Goddess awareness, although she could tell that even the most insensitive person there couldn’t have failed to notice the distinctive difference in atmosphere either.

Maeve had felt it strongly, too. Boudicca was certain of this by the rapture she saw engraved upon her daughter’s face as soon as she regained something more akin to normal consciousness and could focus once more. Boudicca decided not to disturb her, but Maeve’s expression of such serenity gave her the idea that her daughter might be more approachable in this state. She transferred her energy within until she could see her spirit-body shine around her. She was definitely showing more red in the ethereal since the last opportunity she’d had to do this Work, whereas Maeve appeared as a pure blue-white light. She tried to approach but her daughter’s energy was almost searing with its intensity, she was repulsed with every attempt she made to draw near.

Even with Andraste’s presence, Boudicca couldn’t make contact with her daughter. She sat in her Other form and waited patiently for a while, in the hope of learning something about her daughter’s new existence. The light within Maeve-spirit flashed and dazzled with its effervescence, like a clear crystal being turned over and over in bright sunlight. Boudicca could have watched the wondrous patterns forever, she could easily lose track of how long she waited. Then the flickering stars cleared a little, forming features as wise as Maeve’s which smiled a benign benediction upon Boudicca. She understood then why she’d been unable to approach and why Maeve rarely responded to any contact on the material plane.

She watched the beautiful lights for longer than she’d originally intended and let herself be subsumed into their swirling eddies, aware it formed some sort of communication with Maeve. Although not unwelcome, this contact was still not the sort she desired. Then she was aware of movement, of the lights coalescing into some form with life of its own, some creature running helter-skelter away from her at a vicious pace. The bright animal jelled into floppy ears and long, muscular legs propelling it inexorably onwards, onwards but always away.