Iceni

Chapter 2-3

Boudicca did as he bid. Her exhausted people knew they had to work a little more before they could rest the night. If they did not, the lack of shelter might deplete their numbers further by morning. She checked that the work Sucellus had set was progressing, then collected Maeve from the place where she’d left her. They joined Sucellus on a wooden platform which jutted out slightly over the river.

He invited them to sit. Maeve did so without needing to be nudged by her mother. Boudicca was beginning to feel increasingly out of her depth. She sat regally, keeping her back as straight as possible, reminding the others of her status. She was the tallest there. She was trying not to relax, even though she hadn’t felt so free for whole seasons. There might be thirty odd people who directly depended on her and looked solely to her for hope, but she was no longer weighted by the demands of running a community or with the diplomacy necessary to appease an occupying enemy. And this was one of the few places in Britannia, unless you went a long, long way north, where they were truly rid of the Romani.

She wasn’t going to let herself relax, though. Queens didn’t relax.

‘Thank you, Sucellus, for all you have done.’ Sucellus bowed his head. ‘I don’t expect we’ll stay very long. The Keeper said he’d be back within a turn of the moon; hopefully all the other Iceni will have joined us by then. As soon as we’ve gathered, we’ll move on. Although there is one amongst us who would gladly stay. Teirnon has been working a simulated forge for us. He has some skill, manufacturing cooking utensils, basic repairs...’ Sucellus pulled a face. Boudicca felt the need to quickly explain: ‘We needed a forge which was free of all signs of weaponry to fool the Romani. Anyway, he has the way with metal, and he’d make a good apprentice.

‘I don’t know how many of us there’ll be, how many will meet here in total. There have been many, many refugees in the past few turns of the moon. I don’t recall how many hamlets still remain, but I’ll ensure we don’t trouble you unnecessarily.’

Sucellus smiled enigmatically.

‘You won’t be able to see the trees.’

Boudicca looked round at Maeve. She was staring into the water as if nothing had happened.

‘What did you say?’

Maeve continued staring as before. Boudicca started to joggle her, trying to get her attention. Sucellus put his arm out to stop her. He solemnly shook his head, indicating that that would do no good. Then he pointed into the waters which Maeve watched so intently.

Here, by the platform, the waters ran slower. There was a natural depression in the riverbed which had been worn smoother and deeper by the waters that swirled into it and spun so mildly, rendering them almost still. Boudicca watched the clear ripples eddy into the whirlpool before darkening almost to black. She looked deeper, leaning forward to smell the energising air that was being created here, then her sight shifted and she saw bright, sparkling gold, down, down, in the deepest depths. Then she fell herself, seeming to pass beneath the waters that closed over her head, dropping to the treasures.

She blinked and it was gone.

‘What did you see?’ Sucellus asked.

‘Nothing. Only the gold.’

‘Then you must make a sacrifice.’

Boudicca looked at him, questioning. His face gave her no guidance. The most precious thing she owned was her torc. Sucellus himself had fashioned it from pure gold twisted into knots and designs so intricate they could only have been produced by one truly Goddess inspired. Her own mother had presented it to her on the day she had abdicated and Boudicca had ascended to Queen. She remembered having to put it on over her childhood torc, before taking the old one off, ensuring that since birth she had always worn the divine mark around her neck. The gold had been collected from three quotas due from receiving and releasing the Goddess’ trade — it represented a sizeable proportion of gold due to the Iceni in a year and a great deal of wealth.

Without it she was nothing. Unrecognisable as Queen, or even royal kin, nor even as Iceni. The neck-band was such an intrinsic symbol of her identity that she might even be nameless without it.

But without the Goddess, without her first love, she was also nothing. As Priestess first and Queen second she should never forget that all she understood was held cupped in the balance of the Goddess. She was weary too, it wouldn’t hurt to relinquish it all to the Mother. So she reached to her throat and pulled the torc away, casting it softly into the waters that caressed it away.

She instantly felt naked without it and suddenly realised the enormity of what she had done. Hag herself! She might want to lie down and remain in the Haven of the Mother, but there were others who still needed her. She might desire nothingness, but a Queen had no right to impose nothingness upon those who were truly loyal to her.

Then she glimpsed a shimmer further downstream and she jumped up and ran after the fleeting object. ‘It’s been rejected!’ She sobbed and looked to Sucellus and Maeve for support, but they remained as passive as ever. It only took a few swift paces to catch up with the shining torc, then she splashed into the shallow river and pounced upon it as if she were fishing for salmon. She tore it from the waters and defiantly pushed it back on. If the Goddess didn’t want it, she certainly still did! Then as the rounded ends touched her skin she realised that the torc was heavier and she brought it back to her view. Still standing in the stream, oblivious to the icy lapping against her calves, she turned the torc over and over: this could have been made by no human hand. Not even Sucellus had the skill to create something as cunningly beautiful and delicate as this.

The torc with which the Goddess had Gifted her, came straight from the Otherworld, spun from Faery gold with secrets which could only be perfected by tiny hands and minute fingers. Boudicca replaced it around her neck. Mouthing a personal apology to the Goddess, she silently repeated her pledge to serve Her as Priestess and Queen. She felt her confidence soar. she would be proud to wear this emblem, there would be nothing she couldn’t do whilst she bore its benediction.

Turning to stride from the waters she heard, from the forge, calls of welcome and surprise. There were familiar voices sounding relieved. Sucellus had turned and was already heading back over the short distance with his loping run, which was the best he could manage. Maeve was still staring into the waters — Hag alone knew what she could see, if anything. Perhaps she was simply entranced by the glistening play of light upon the surface water like a child would be. Whatever, it was evident she would need Boudicca to guide her back to the forge.

No one, then, had seen her being Gifted. It was a private moment, one that she had no need to share. Those that needed to know, or who knew her well, would notice the torc; the others would only notice her changed demeanour. She followed at an elegant pace; the heaviness of the torc had affected her bearing and she had to move with an air about her now.

Helping Maeve, Boudicca made her way back to the forge. In the short while they’d been gone, many rough shelters had been constructed which would serve as adequate temporary accommodation, and as the building continued, those too frail or tired to help claimed shelters for their own and crawled inside to rest. A couple of the messengers who had been sent out to other Iceni villages had returned, bringing Iceni kin with them. And that, it seemed, had been the reason for the welcoming calls. Apparently, it wasn’t just those from the royal enclave who had been prepared to abandon their former lands; all those in Iceni territory seemed content to leave their homes and gather with their kin, no matter how distant. It was as if they were all aware that the encroaching Romani occupation meant it was only a matter of waiting before they too lost everything. The prospect of change, the chance at some sort of hope, anything was better than just waiting for the inevitable worst.

The following days and lunar quarters passed slowly for Boudicca. The moon waxed to full and then started to wane again. Grania still vented her anger on inanimate objects, seeming to find more energy than all the others put together for coppicing and tree felling. Boudicca had tried to hug her once, but had been pushed aside with an: ‘I am fine, mother-mine.’ Maeve remained, on the whole, still, but she would take herself off on three or four occasions a day to wash herself in the river. She had also taken to watching Sucellus work. The smith never pressed her for conversation, he just went about his business as if her frightened little eyes were upon someone else. However, Boudicca had noticed how he would angle himself, as he produced fine weaponry, so that he didn’t obscure Maeve’s view.

Sucellus had pledged himself to arming all the warriors amongst the Iceni, and he was producing a steady stream of iron tipped spears, daggers and honed swords. It seemed he had been building up quite an arsenal before they had arrived, predicting that it would be needed soon. He revealed his cache of weapons which had been brought to him bit by bit in the last decade for safekeeping. In his care, since the Romani’s edict against keeping weapons, the Iceni had avoided the confiscation which had blighted other tribes. Each object had been kept oiled and wrapped, and lay perfectly preserved, ready for use after a quick resharpening. He even directed the smallest children to the riverbank to collect sling-stones.

The refugees continued to tumble in, filling the makeshift shelters and stables, and finding warmth amongst the steam of the ponies when needing quick, immediate heat. Grania’s team of woods-folk had to travel further each day for available birch, not least to satisfy the fire which consumed vast quantities of fuel. The Goddess kindly provided wood pigeon and hedgehog, boar and deer upon which they could feast. There were also the few root vegetables and mushrooms which could be foraged by those who knew where to look, as well as the grain, sheep and cattle brought in by the refugees.

There were very few disputes or quarrels to settle; the tribe for once were pulling together and making a real effort to curb their naturally fractious characters. There was the odd raised voice, slap, or over zealous punch, but by Iceni standards that was exceptionally placid behaviour. By the end of the first lunar quarter, their original numbers had quadrupled; by the third, Sucellus’ large clearing was very cramped. It was no longer simply Gelfine here; the basic royal family had expanded to include cousins and aunts, great-nephews and grandparents: Derbfine. Distant kin met distant kin, often after having been separated for generations; ancestral memories were shared and new allegiances formed. Sucellus returned heirlooms to their owners on recognition; he seemed to sense to whom each weapon should belong, claiming that swords sang to him when their rightful owner arrived. Champions took up their grandparents’ swords and wielded them once more, marvelling at the balance and weight of such treasures. The Iceni tribe was almost complete, truly Tuath again.

Everyone, Boudicca realised, was coping fine without her. She felt slightly superfluous. She busied herself organising and participating in battle training for those who were sorely out of practice, but still she couldn’t shrug off the mood of agitation which hung over her. Unusually she also felt lusty, as if the rising sap in the greenery around provoked her to rutting fever too. She wondered if Lovernios had been delayed on his way to the Boatman at the coast. Even in Iceni territory there were bandits, beholden to no tribe, who would rob a Druid if they found one. She couldn’t Sense him at all, he had Cloaked himself too well. She wondered why she was surprised. Perhaps it was just that he seemed so young, maybe a year or two younger than her. He could only just be out of Druidic training, yet he was so very gifted. The feelings reminded her of her long yearning after Prasutagus died, and she recognised the desire to push onwards that was indicative of her reaction to stress, her desperate need to do something.

The new torc hung heavy on her neck too. It pulled her deep into nightmarish dreams, full of blood and pain and flapping ravens which clawed at her eyes. There were waking visions, too, hinting at sudden movement just at the corner of her eyes. And there was a brooding badness right inside her, scrabbling for a foothold to reach for release. The tension was permanent, leaving her to feel continually on edge, as if she was about to birth some horror.

On the last day of the third lunar quarter to pass, at sunset, when the low sun flickered through the bare branches as if through a cracked glass, Lovernios came and her mood lifted. Just when she was beginning to despair that she might have to make some excuse to Sucellus and thank him dearly for his hospitality, and move her people on to roam forever like so many lepers, Lovernios sneaked up behind her to tap her playfully upon the shoulder. She knew someone was there well before she tucked and turned because they lacked the stealth of the hunter, even letting their tall shadow fall in betrayal. ‘You’re too fast for me!’ Lovernios chuckled. Boudicca gave him her best patronising smile.

She looked past him to the trees. There was the tiniest unnatural movement, so slight she almost missed it, but it definitely wasn’t one of her spirits hovering just out of sight. Lovernios had brought a warrior with him, a skilled warrior. He followed her gaze. ‘I’ve brought someone with me. They would join with you — Addedomarus of the Trinovantes.’

Boudicca stooped, picked up the spear she had been practising with, and turned and threw it in one smooth movement. The spear quivered righteously from the bark of the oak in which it was now embedded. ‘How dare you!’ she screeched at Lovernios, all the tensions of the previous days exploding at once. ‘You drag me here. You make me wait. Without telling me what is happening. Without giving me or my people any hope except that which I have conjured for them.’ They had an audience, Iceni were running towards them. Addedomarus had been dragged out from behind the oak and was surrounded, a ring of spear-heads pointed at his chest. ‘Then you bring, you dare to bring, a,’ she spat, ‘a Trinovante, from beyond the forest, to our midst. I know you Druids go where you please, sacrosanct to all tribes, but now you’ve gone too far with your priestly immunity. I’m surprised you didn’t think to bring one of the Catuvellauni with you too, then we could have killed ourselves here, with only the trees to witness our warfare; finishing ourselves off without ever needing to trouble the Romani again!’

‘Boudicca, Queen,’ Addedomarus addressed her humbly yet without abasing himself. ‘Our tribe has a deep desire for revenge too. We would be stronger together.’

‘The Iceni don’t need to borrow your strength. You might need help, but we don’t. We solve our own problems. Our independence is our pride.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Your troubles don’t even begin to approach the magnitude of ours.’

Lovernios grabbed her wrists; he was strong. She hissed and struggled like a cat, then remembered who he was and quietened. Lovernios spoke firmly to her, holding her eyes and forcing her to look back at him. ‘Let us talk, let us discuss. Then you may decide whether the Iceni will allow the Trinovantes to fight. But first give him a chance to explain; you may be surprised at what has been going on in Britannia beyond the cosseting barriers of forest and fen.’