Iceni

Chapter 2-2

Then she went to her. Gently she approached and sat beside her. Across the fire, the Lady of Camboritum was baking griddle bread from a batch of mix. The little flat cakes were at their best fresh and warm but would keep for a day, maybe two, at a push. Boudicca motioned that she would take over.

She wrapped the handle in the cloths of her skirts and moved the hot griddle to her side of the fire, hanging it from the ornate fire-dogs, and measured out a ladle of the thick batter. It sizzled immediately and she watched it gradually brown, deftly flipping it over to cook the other side. Then she added it to the stack already begun. This action of ladle, watch, flip, watch, stack, ladle and so on, was such a familiar routine it was like a meditation. Such an ordinary chore, but Boudicca derived great comfort from it. The world may change, kin might die, rulers may change, but griddle bread stayed the same. She could cook good bread quite absentmindedly, and it gave her an excuse to sit and talk to Maeve without feeling lazy.

‘Do you remember when Mama cooked you griddle bread when you were little, daughter-mine? You would always want to cook a special cake to yourself and it always ended up with a tiny piece burnt when you didn’t manage to flip it quick enough. Do you recall how you always used to claim that you liked the black burnt bit best because you liked the crunch? But you always used to pull the most disgusted face when you had to eat it.

‘You had pride even then, Maeve, and you loved the unusual, the distinct. Where is that pride now? Is it that which keeps you hidden from us? There’s no shame for you in what happened. No one here holds any blame for you.’ She touched Maeve’s cheek with a soft finger. ‘It won’t get any better until you come out.

‘There, now in talking I’ve caught the edge of this cake. You’d better be the one to have it since you’re the only one who likes it a little burnt and I dare say it’ll be the last opportunity for warm bread for a while.’ Boudicca transferred the warm griddle bread to Maeve’s hands, closing her fingers around it. Maeve did not move. The bread cooled as she held it. Boudicca looked away in anguish, tears crawling down her face.

She turned back to supervising the packing. She hated what she was doing to Maeve by neglecting her, if indeed Maeve was aware of any neglect, but Boudicca knew that from now on her people had to come before even her own daughters. There was not much to pack. Only the most essential, portable possessions had been chosen and furtive meals made of any perishable foods. Gradually, the folk sitting patiently outside, with belongings heaped around them, started to outnumber those who were still busy. Boudicca set Grania to hurrying the rest along, then went to Maeve and pulled her to her feet. Fortunately, Maeve responded to the order inherent in her mother’s touch and shuffled along as she was led. Even though her body moved with the grace of a priestess, its precision disguised by a casual air, her face still kept its stony, detached expression.

Boudicca supported Maeve until they were out of the hut and past those who were waiting. She went back to poke out some unburnt kindling from the hearth fire and tucked it away in a bag. Two slaves doused the smouldering hearth-stones by emptying the contents of an enormous iron cauldron over it, enveloping themselves in hissing steam. Then they threaded an iron bar through the cauldron handles so it could be lifted and carried. The next Iceni fire would be lit from the old kindling; the next Iceni meal would be eaten together from the kin-cauldron. These things were the last to leave, and would be the first to be set down. As was proper.

‘We move out,’ Boudicca called to her people. ‘Follow me and stay close. Finding is involved and those of you who do not have the Skill will need to rely on those who do.’ Boudicca strode purposefully to the head of the column which had formed naturally, slowing her pace when she reached Maeve and guiding her by the arm. It was like leading a blind woman, except that Maeve’s feet missed turf clods and lumps of flint, rendering her as sure footed as one of their brave little ponies.

As they climbed the slight rise, out of the enclosure, stumbling towards the forest, Boudicca glanced back at the rag-tag army straggling out behind. The warriors amongst them held themselves tall despite their limed hair, the spikes of which had bent and drooped. Were sad huddles like this all that was left of the once proud, wealthy Iceni? Boudicca swallowed. There had been a period, within her memory, when they had wanted for nothing, when gold had flowed and they had been the envy of all the other tribes of Britannia. Then they had held off all attempts at conquest or raid, dissuading their enemies by the fame of their champions and the defence offered by the forest and fen flanking their lands. She hated the Romani for reducing them to this, especially following the courtesy and hospitality they had taken and crushed. She swore, with every stamp of her foot, that she would win back Iceni notoriety. Every Romani would regret the day they chose to trick and deceive and steal. They would pay with blood and fire. There was an evil brooding inside her which had started to demand its feed.

The forest started abruptly, running along the ridge of the hill. Birch saplings hemmed in the denser oak which turned the forest to night. She paused to allow everyone to catch up. ‘Join hands or tie your skirts to each other, I don’t want to lose any of you who accompany me,’ she called. ‘Leave the wagons and chariots and those who really can’t walk the short distance. They’ll be brought in very soon as my first priority.’ Those who could came forward to follow Boudicca’s instructions. As it was, there was only a handful who stayed behind. They crouched together for warmth, confident in Boudicca’s promise.

As Boudicca advised, those who could walk formed a windy line which moved forward to snake between the trees and seemed to hiss with the disturbance of leaf mould. Quickly Boudicca placed a Ward to Artio against harm over them. Away in the distance, her sharp ears picked up the lumbering of a bear and knew that the forest Goddess was with them in Her natural form. When she judged the whole line to be within the boundary of the forest, she started to Find. Such workings took effort and concentration and it was one of the few techniques she had not fully mastered. She needed stillness, lack of pressure, no stress. She kept walking. In the chain behind she heard someone trip over a tree root. Someone else coughed. She had to Find quickly, they couldn’t tramp around a forest forever, and there were the invalids outside who were depending on her to get them in. Being a Queen didn’t provide too many occasions for Finding true Paths; how she wished she had practised more! Perhaps, she reprimanded herself, that would have been a less wasteful pursuit than her morning forays.

Still nothing happened. No footpath opened to show a clear way through the woodland. Boudicca was beginning to feel nervous, realising how vulnerable they all were. Was she really the right person to lead? Was there really no one else? She tried to push such thoughts from her, knowing they compounded the anxiety which clouded the mind and prevented attainment of the necessary clarity. Then, suddenly, she was no longer leading but being led as Maeve pushed off confidently to the left. And then she saw the Path revealed ahead. It was so obvious in hindsight, the click of the mind which enabled the Otherworld to shift into place. Branches lifted, tree roots sank into the earth, tendrils and creepers twisted apart.

She looked at Maeve in wonder, then back at the Path. Maeve still gazed with blank eyes and had relinquished the lead back to her mother. No-one else would have known that Maeve had done the Finding, instead of Boudicca. Boudicca regained control quickly and led them forward, down into a shallow valley where the sound of rushing water encouraged them to hurry to meet it. Maeve had seemed to take control for only a moment, no one else had appeared to notice, but Boudicca could not be certain exactly what had happened. Whatever, she, or they, had Found, and were now safe. That was all. ‘Is everyone present?’ she asked those who followed. ‘You can stop holding on to each other now, we have Found!’

Sounds of relief filtered back to her and the pace lightened. At the river they came to a sturdy bridge, barred by a blacksmith who stood, arms crossed, guarding the way. He wore leather aprons and his hammer tucked into his belt. On the other bank stood his forge with an ever-glowing fire, and stables full of ponies which appeared very familiar to Boudicca. She approached without hesitation and greeted him. ‘Sucellus, I am Boudicca of the Iceni. We’ve met before, I trust you remember — although the years have been kinder to you than to me. You see before you all that remain of the royal enclosure of the Iceni tribe. We beg your aid.’

‘Madam,’ the smith grinned suddenly with welcome. ‘I am hardly likely to forget the face of my Lamer, am I? Once and always bound to serve the Iceni, how can I refuse now?’ He limped forward to bow before her, favouring his right leg.

‘The years may have been kind to your face but your temper is as sour as ever,’ she reached down to raise him up and clasped his hand. ‘It was a fair fight and well you know it. I’ve got one or two scars to show for it myself.’

He grinned, ‘Wouldn’t be a proper iron-smelter if I were free to wander, would I, madam? You stay here as long as you like, and ask of me what you will. I guessed something was up by the arrival of your ponies yesterday. Been busy shoeing them all. Might I ask, though, just a small favour?’ He was rubbing his hands together. ‘Perhaps a bit of gold to work? I haven’t had any for quite a while. Not for myself, you understand. For the Goddess.’ His hand swept around, indicating the river.

Boudicca nodded, as if indulging a child. ‘I think we might be able to find you a little.’

Sucellus’ face lit up and he started to shake all over in excitement. ‘Madam, I’ll go and get the old and infirm you left outside. I should be able to Find a path wide enough to get the wagons in. You all make yourselves comfortable and I’ll take a few of the horses to help with the pulling.’

Boudicca looked at him in astonishment, wide eyed and mouth agape. Sucellus winked and limped off past her people, whistling to some ponies to follow. Boudicca waited for three or four horses to tear themselves away from their hay and trot over the bridge after the blacksmith. Then she led the way over the bridge and straight to the forge fires where her people dropped their burdens and started to warm themselves.

Sucellus was back with the wagons and chariots and their contents almost straightaway. He saw to the comfort of the ponies first, making sure they had a quick rub down and water and ensuring their places at the hay bales hadn’t been usurped by their fellows. Then he called Boudicca to him. ‘You’ll be here for a while, I can see that, and there’ll be more to follow. Set them to building shelters. Take only the birch, not the oak. You’ll find a bit of food in my hut; k****e your new fire from mine and yours blended together. Grania’ll be the best for that job. Then you and Maeve come with me.’