by Beth Webb
Without meaning to, she remembered the flames of Sinodun and Dorcic.
Close by, something crackled. A hot cinder pricked her hand. Tegen smelled burning.
The fire pot had tipped on its side and the red-hot charcoal had spilled on the moss. Yellow tongues of flame licked the dry heather and fern. Fanned by the wind, the fire was spreading.
‘Damn! Look what my imaginings have done now! I haven’t even finished my ritual,’ she muttered.
She shoved the boy back. ‘Run!’ she yelled. ‘Back to camp.’ Then pulling off her cloak, Tegen whacked at the flames, but they raged hot and high, hungry for the gorse and scrub. Sparks leaped, catching quickly.
Tegen sprang back to the road and watched as the wind swirled the roaring inferno towards the town.
Black smoke curled into the pale sky. Epona whinnied and Tegen coughed. She couldn’t breathe. Glowing ash scorched her skirt and hair. She had to run, but where? The way back to the camp was already alight, as was the road to Camulodunum. There was only the river …
The river! That was it.
Tegen faced north, pulled her cloak over her head and crouched down low.
‘Fire will bring an easy victory,’ Tegen told herself, ‘but only by making a pyre for British and Roman alike.’ She gritted her teeth. ‘The only fire must be afterwards – to cleanse.’
Tegen took a deep, choking breath and then she blew, long and hard.
In that moment the wind changed, sweeping the scarlet flames towards the water. Tegen watched until she was certain that the blaze had moved away, leaving the heath blackened and sour.
Tegen’s Reward
Tegen grabbed Epona’s reins and ran uphill across the hot, blackened ground. At last she reached the charred gates, defended only by a few blackened corpses. Inside the wrecked palisade, the houses were untouched by flames but ash swirled in the air, falling as grey snow.
The streets were empty. Here and there, a few Romans were lying dead, but that was all. She had saved the town, but had her most important spell worked? Had the townspeople fled? Ahead and to her left, she could hear shouting and cheering. Passing the high-walled theatre to her right, she came out onto the temple steps.
Below, the square was packed with warriors and chieftains.
Two men were lifting Boudica onto the plinth where Victory had once stood. Her great cloak flapped like a single dark wing. She spread her arms wide and her warriors cheered.
Tegen shook her head. ‘She’s the same as the old “Victory” – just different robes!’
From the back of her mind crept a picture of the queen lying spread-eagled face down, where the cold marble now lay shattered. She will die before it’s over, Tegen thought, but for now, I must imagine her triumphant, laden with gold and silver, surrounded by exultant crowds.
Just then, Tegen’s thoughts were interrupted by Sabrina, her face flushed with excitement. ‘There you are! The queen wants to honour you. Come.’ Taking her friend’s hand, she led her towards the plinth.
Boudica looked down. ‘All hail the battle druid who brought us this victory,’ she proclaimed.
Tegen was lifted onto burly shoulders. Underfoot, the pavement shook with cheering.
For good manners’ sake, Tegen smiled and inclined her head.
Boudica went on: ‘The place is deserted! Our warriors have searched every house and killed the few that remained, but they were weak and elderly. What did you do with the vermin that lived here Tegen? Have they been spirited away? Where could so many people hide? Our patrols picked off those who tried to flee last night, their corpses are feeding the crows this morning, but there must be more! Use your skills, find the people so they may take the taste of British iron to the Otherworld!’
Tegen’s mouth went dry. She must distract the queen from the temple where she knew so many had been herded in the dark hours. ‘I will walk though the town and read the signs the spirits have left,’ she answered. ‘May Sabrina, Queen of the Dobunni accompany me? Anyone else who wishes may come also.’
Soon Tegen was leading Boudica’s warriors along the streets. ‘Search each house again,’ she ordered. ‘Enjoy whatever loot you find there, it’s your just reward.’
Then maybe you’ll be distracted by drink and forget what you’re about, she reasoned silently.
The men smashed at doors without even trying them, then the ransacking began.
‘Look at this!’ someone shouted, flinging crockery into the street.
‘Wine in this one!’ a man hollered, and there was a stampede for a share.
Tegen ignored them, stepping over debris and the few corpses: trying not to throw up when she slipped on the guts of a disembowelled woman, or accidentally kicked a loose head.
Sabrina was full of chatter about how the fight had gone. ‘There were a few old men at each gate,’ she said, ‘We burst in like a great wave on the Rearing River! We were magnificent!’
‘Did you have to fight like heroes?’ Tegen asked quietly.
Sabrina scratched her chin thoughtfully. ‘No … I suppose it was a bit disappointing really. All we found were the sick and a handful of boys with sticks.’
A young man ran past carrying an oil jar in his arms. Sabrina grinned cheerfully. ‘But the looting’s been good.’
Sabrina was a warrior. This was her life; this was who she was. Tegen tried to share her friend’s delight, but her stomach churned at the stench of death and faeces. She would never get used to it.
They tramped the whole town, street by street. All around, the warriors were smashing and stealing. From time to time Sabrina stopped to examine bodies that lay in the street. If life was still lingering, she sent each soul on its way to rebirth, Roman and British alike.
‘You’re a true warrior, Sabrina,’ Tegen said, adding prayers and blessings. ‘The spirits will repay your kindness.’
Her friend nodded. ‘One of them might be my brother in the next life, I don’t want to make trouble for myself!’ Then she laughed and helped herself to a handful of fruit from a spilled basket. She offered some to Tegen, but she refused.
‘There’s to be a feast tonight, once we’re sure the place is clear. Boudica has ordered that everyone in the camp may come and help themselves. You can sacrifice some animals for us and do your augury, then we’ll eat until we burst.’
Tegen shuddered at the thought of more killing – even of animals. The way the hot blood spurted made her long to eat only bread and parsnips for the rest of her life. ‘What then?’ she managed to say.
‘After the feast? Oh, then the fun begins, Addedomaros, the Trinovantian high chieftain, has asked for the privilege of opening up the temple and taking the first loot.’
A picture of women and children lying slaughtered on the white marble steps flashed into Tegen’s mind. ‘That must not be!’ she told herself as she struggled to turn the image into a scene of warriors laden with gold. But she knew what she had seen.
She swallowed hard. ‘Why does the privilege belong to the Trinovantes?’
Sabrina laughed, showing the gaps in her front teeth. ‘Because their taxes paid for the place – and their slave labour built it. It’s only right they should take it all back!’
Tegen understood the justice, but her mind floundered to think of how to save the people she knew were huddled inside.
All around, the streets were filling up with hangers-on from the camp. The bustle and shove made walking uncomfortable. ‘I’m going back to the temple square,’ Tegen said. ‘I left Epona there, and there’s something I need to do.’
Sabrina smiled and jumped through an open shop front. ‘Here,’ she called out, ‘catch this!’
For one awful moment, Tegen thought she was being thrown a human head, but it was a whole cheese. She didn’t want it. She couldn’t eat knowing the slaughter that was about to happen. Handing the food to a pregnant woman who was rummaging amongst some broken jars, Tegen strode back to the square.
I should have noticed they hadn’
t touched the temple, Tegen berated herself. But it’s not too late …
She pushed and shoved through the assembling crowds until she reached the temple’s polished bronze doors. Breaking them down wasn’t going to be easy.
Maybe high chieftain Addedomaros won’t get in, she thought hopefully. Then when we’ve gone, everyone will escape.
She knew that was wishful thinking, but until her vision became reality she’d fight with everything she had.
For the first time in too long, Tegen stood still.
I need somewhere to be alone, she thought. I need space and quiet to create a proper image. I have to prevent this slaughter.
At last Tegen found a small garden at the back of a shop. Vines heavy with purple grapes hung over a small pool. She sat on the parapet and closed her eyes. Concentrate! She told herself. Make a good outcome happen. You have the gift of imagining, learn how to use it. Don’t let it use you!
Sitting quietly, she replaced the picture of slaughter on the temple steps with a new scene – a glade of trees where the prisoners sat quietly.
When Tegen returned, Boudica looked up from examining a basket of treasure by her knee. She broke into a welcoming smile and handed Tegen a second golden bangle. ‘And your rewards will be greater than these,’ she said, ‘take what you like. The rumors about you weren’t exaggerated. You were magnificent!’
Tegen did not want to offend, so she slipped the gift onto her wrist and kissed the queen’s cheek. As a druid she was equal to nobility and had no need to show deference, but what she was about to ask would need all the flattery she could manage.
‘Madam, there is one thing I really would like …’
‘Anything! Just name it!’ Boudica smiled with genuine warmth. The morning light glinted on a circlet of blue and red stones in her hair. She was queen of everything and she owed it all to her druid.
Tegen turned to face the crowded square. She tapped a large warrior on the shoulder. ‘I need to speak,’ she said.
‘Silence for the druid!’ the man bellowed.
Tegen took her place beside Boudica. She raised her arms so her golden bangles glistened in the sun.
Silence fell.
‘By the powers of the Lady Andraste, Goddess of the Iceni, this city has been delivered into the hands of Boudica, and indeed,’ she paused and bowed to the gathering, ‘into your hands also. This is your day of triumph. I bless your victory and I give you this town!’
Everyone cheered and Tegen waved for silence. ‘It has been justly decreed that the temple and any treasures found within it, belong to Addedomaros and his people. They paid for it, they built it with their sweat and toil.’ There were more cheers. ‘And I bless that too! But …’ she paused and looked around, ‘Queen Boudica has graciously granted me that I shall take what pleases me as my share of today’s riches.’
The crowd hooted and whistled heartily. Tegen took a deep breath. ‘The spirits have revealed to me that if anyone should be alive inside the temple, they belong to the Goddess and to her alone! So for her honour, I claim any souls found alive within that place.’
There were more raucous cheers. Tegen glanced back at the queen, but she was talking with an aide and hadn’t even been listening. Thank goodness for that, she thought. She won’t argue. Now at last I can relax and enjoy the party. Everyone will be safe, but goodness knows what I’m going to do with them, I’ve never had captives before!
Temple Tributes
Boudica and her warriors feasted in the temple square that night. Tables were dragged from the houses and piled with looted food. The nearby farms yielded cattle and goats for roasting; all washed down with Roman wine.
Tegen ate at Boudica’s side on the Temple’s top step. From time to time she thought she heard a child crying from beyond the bronze doors at her back.
‘It won’t be long now,’ she whispered into the fire-lit darkness. ‘When they open the temple, I’ll make sure you’re safe.’ For the first time for many, many months, Tegen ate, drank, and after several horns of mead, she even danced.
At midnight, Tegen and Sabrina staggered wearily back to camp, arms round each other’s necks.
‘You enjoyed yourself tonight, that was good to see,’ Sabrina commented as they approached Tegen’s tent. ‘You need to laugh and dance more often.’
Tegen hiccoughed as she uncurled herself from Sabrina’s support. ‘I like it when people don’t die.’
Sabrina kissed her cheek and shoved her inside. ‘This is war. Your soul is too gentle to be a battle druid. Goodnight.’ And she closed the tent flap.
When she was alone, Tegen tugged off her boots and pulled her blanket over her shoulders. ‘I’m not too gentle,’ she whispered into her pillow. ‘I just do things differently. Tomorrow, everyone in the temple will be led to a sacred grove where they’ll be under my protection. If the rest of the campaign can be like this, then I will have a clear conscience.’
But Tegen could not sleep. She wished she could have shared the left over food and drink with the prisoners in the temple. ‘They’ve been in there for a whole day and night,’ she mused. ‘Conditions must be awful – stinking, longing for water and light …’
She sat up in bed and imagined a sacred grove – there had to be one nearby.
In her mind, two or three hundred people were lying quietly in groups, glad to be in the sun and air once more. But she was worried about what she was going to do with them. Should she sell them as slaves? They’d never survive a British winter if she just set them free to roam. Slavery was better than destitution.
She yawned and lay down. Tomorrow would be another long day.
At dawn, the horns sounded and Tegen woke with a hangover. She tidied herself and stepped out into the early autumn air. A mist lay in the valley, making the town of Camulodunum look like an island floating between the hills.
Taking her staff and her ritual gear, she made her morning offerings to the spirits. ‘Show me what to do with the people that come under my care today,’ she prayed. Then she followed Boudica’s warriors as they marched into the town to begin their second day’s work.
Most were busy with heaping oil, wine and bright woollen blankets onto carts. Unwanted furniture was dragged into the streets and piled against the house walls. Children climbed onto the thatched roofs and threw straw down to their parents who stacked it between the houses. Mattresses, clothes, everything was heaped outside.
But a deafening banging and crashing drowned out the shouts and chatter. Tegen hurried along the straight streets to the temple. As she entered the square, she saw men with hammers and large pincers stripping bronze from the Temple doors and loading it onto waggons.
On the top steps, high chieftain Addedomaros and his cousin Daig were directing operations. Larch trees had been lashed together to make ladders, and lengths of rope were being handed out amongst the crowd of excited Trinovantian warriors.
At last Daig shouted, ‘Pull the carts back! Pile kindling against the doors – no, not like that, leave room for them to open a bit.’
Then Addedomaros, his hair freshly spiked with lime, raised his hands for silence. ‘My brothers and sisters of the Trinovantes, this day is yours. This temple is yours. The glory is yours. TAKE IT ALL!’
With an answering shout, the crowd drew back and the ladders were raised. The younger, lighter men scaled the walls. Taking hammers from their belts, they smashed the terracotta tiles. Soon there were a dozen large holes in the roof.
Tegen could imagine the stench of urine and fear inside, and the prisoners’ mixture of relief at the fresh air and dread of what was coming. ‘If only I could tell them it’ll be all right,’ Tegen whispered. She closed her eyes and reminded herself of the terrified people lying on the grass in the fresh air.
The picture was clear. It would come true.
All will be well, she promised silently. Your souls belong to the spirit of the grove.
The holes in the roof were growing. The young men uncoiled ropes
from their waists and tied them to exposed beams, then dropped the free ends down the outside of the walls.
Tegen elbowed her way through the cheering crowd. What was going on? A faggot of dried wood was tied to each rope and then hauled up. Tegen’s heart missed a beat. They were going to use fire!
She tried to get through to speak to Addedomaros, to warn him that no lives must be lost, but the excited crowd took no notice of Tegen’s shouts. She was just a small young woman drowning in a sea of large, excited men.
Suddenly there was a scream, and a boy on the nearest ladder swayed, toppled, and fell back. An arrow in his chest.
The people inside were armed! The boy had scarcely landed on the ground, before another took his place, hauling firewood up behind him.
More arrows flew. More of the climbers fell. But that only made the crowd nastier. Young men and a few girls were queuing for their chance to scale the walls. More and more wood was tossed inside, followed by small baskets of burning kindling.
Tegen bit her knuckles. The Trinovantes had betrayed their promise. Thick smoke was already billowing from between the roof tiles, carrying screams of terror and agony.
Then one great door creaked open to thunderous applause from the onlookers. The prisoners staggered from the fire into the light.
Tegen elbowed her way to the front of the crowd, then sighed with relief as she saw men binding the captives’ hands and looping ropes around their necks.
So maybe this was what Addedomaros had planned? Using small fires to make sure the prisoners came quietly? That’s not so bad, Tegen thought. She looked for the little boy she’d shielded from the riot only two days before and wondered whether he was safe.
In the fire-lit gloom of the temple stood the ominous figure of their god, a stone figure in Roman clothes. Tegen turned away in disgust.
A new surge of warriors, forcing their way into the temple, shoved Tegen against a sooty wall. Once more she had to fight her way forward. Breathless and bruised, she managed to stand beside Addedomaros at last. ‘What d’you want done with the vermin?’ he yelled over the noise.