Andraste turned the great beast, Maten, around and galloped with the wind through the air to a Roman fort in Caledonia.
* * * * *
It’s been a day, a full day she’s been up on the hill alone. This is what it will be like to be married to a druidess. Brude picked up a piece of wood. He lit the firebrand from the central hearth, and then he banked the fire. He walked out of the wheelhouse, holding the torch. Even in the depth of night, the fat, waxing moon beamed as he headed toward the hill. He took his time with every step, every movement. Halfway up the hill, he laid the firebrand down. He kicked dirt over it to extinguish the flame, hoping the dark of night concealed him. He crept the rest of the way up the hill. The light of the moon allowed him to barely make her out. She lay at the foot of the stone on her cloak, asleep.
Brude had snuck up here to watch over her unnoticed. He headed to the edge of the hill where the forest began, to hide there. He had to. Something could happen to her, up here alone for three days with naught but water. He had to be here. He had to protect her. After all, he was betrothed to her. Even though he still hoped to find a way out of the marriage, it didn’t mean he wanted her to be mauled by the Romans. He spread his cloak out on the ground and lay down. Now that he knew she was safe, sleepiness overcame him. At last, he could rest. His mind drifted into a deep dream.
He woke to find the sun had already risen. He had gone to bed so late that he had awakened late. He stood slowly, trying not to make any noise, and he lifted his cloak off the ground. He shook the dirt from it and wrapped it over his shoulders. He stood behind the tree so it concealed him, and he moved his head slightly so he could see her. She had wakened, and she now sat with her back against the stone. She appeared to be in a trance.
Is this what she would do for the next three days? Is this what she did all day yesterday? She had but one skin of water and no food. His belly rumbled. He'd eaten a full meal yesterday, but he needed to break his fast. With small steps, he moved as silently as he could. He came upon a bush of bilberries and stuffed the juicy morsels in his mouth. He swiped the juice off his face with the back of his hand. When he made his way back to the edge of the woods, he noticed she still sat there, her position unchanged, in deep concentration. Her mind had traveled somewhere only druids went. Whether the past or the future or the otherworld, he didn’t know. But he would make sure she came back from there and back down the hill unharmed in two days.
He had an urge to know what she was doing, to understand it better. He was a warrior, not a druid. Why did he care? He knew the answer, she brought out the concern in him. She made him a better man.
The words “dangerous” and “trouble” popped into his head. He had known that the first time he saw her. He’d been chasing a wild boar and diverted his eyes way from the hunt. He couldn’t help it. She stood there like some goddess who had come from the otherworld to hunt him the way he hunted that boar. That was the look in her eyes, the fiery gaze of a predator who wanted to capture him. He was caught, her prey forever, the moment his eyes met hers…those emerald shards. When he launched his spear and slew the beast, she told him, ‘Good throw’. He’d craved her praise ever since.
Yet, Tanwen made it clear that she did not want to wed because of any attraction for him, no, she was just following her ancestor’s order. Seducing him, marrying him, all of it came to nothing more than her druid duty. He wasn’t going t to get caught up in that. That wasn’t the type of marriage he would have.
Brude grew mad with boredom. He moved about the forest, returning now and then to a spot where she was within his sight. As still as a rock, she had sat in the same place without moving. The sun was high in the sky when she shifted her back against the stone, and, reaching for her water skin, she took a long drink. She set it back and returned to her intense mental quest.
He didn’t get much sleep last night. He drifted off and, when he awoke, all was engulfed in darkness. The moon was waning, so there was a bit less light than the night before. He headed toward Tanwen. She was lying asleep on her plaid cloak in front of the long stone.
He could not go to this place she visited. She walked the path of a druid to help him and the other warriors. She had to go there alone. He understood now. In the dark of night, he made his way down the hill and back to the wheelhouse.
He woke up in his wheelhouse without her on the third day that she fasted on the hill. Throughout the day, his mind turned with thoughts of her. He yearned for her more and more. Still he could not forget that she did not feel the same about him.
Near the end of the day, he gasped as he heard her voice. He ran toward the hill to see her speeding down it. She called to him, “Brude, get your sire, Chief Calach. The gods have tidings for him.”
* * * * *
The glowing sun beamed down from the clear, azure sky, but the vision was a thick mist clinging to Tanwen’s mind. Whipped out of the present and thrown into the raid to come, she rubbed her head. She struggled to pull away from the fire, the blood and the screams, and to root her spirit back in the here and now.
Her heart hammered as she ran down the hill toward the chief. The gods bestowed their foresight and handed the Caledonians a victory, but only if Calach heeded her vision. Otherwise, the advantage would be lost. Now or never, together, the tribes had to move as one.
As she called for Calach, the villagers ran toward the chief’s wheelhouse. She combed her fingers through her hair. She must look a fright— no food, no sleep, no mirror and no bath for three days. But it well worth the insight the gods gave her.
Before she made it halfway to the chief’s wheelhouse, Calach rushed up to her with Brude at his side. Brude looked at her with a seductive gleam in his eyes. He didn’t seem to even notice her disarray. They stood in the middle of the village with the entire tribe and the visiting chieftains, as well.
“Hail druidess. What message have the gods brought forth?” Calach pierced her with an intense gaze as he waited for an answer.
“Hasten! You must raid the camp of the 9th Legion at once. Now separated from Agricola, they are vulnerable, but only at night. The gods granted me foresight of the attack, and we were the victors.”
Brude pulled her into his arms and spun around. “You will bring us a victory.” He pressed his open lips to hers in a warm kiss of celebration.
She’d hungered for his wet, delicious kiss. It was like fire on her mouth. What happened to the crowd that had clamored around them? No Romans, no chiefs—just Brude holding her in his warm embrace against his broad, throbbing chest. She and Brude— what else could there be?
It was no longer a kiss of celebration, but a kiss of passion, of longing. It was a declaration that he had missed her as much as she’d missed him. Completely, she gave in to his passion. The caress of his mouth stroking hers set her heart racing. He crushed her to him. She savored every moment of pure pleasure as he plundered her mouth and her senses.
He eased his lips off hers and gazed into her eyes. Her mouth burned with fire.
The chief yelled out in joy, “Let it be so.” He turned to the crowd. “Come nobles, chieftains and warriors, to the hall.” He gazed back at her. “Druidess, impart the message the gods blessed you with.”
“Yes, Chief Calach.” She felt a loss as Brude released her from his embrace. A moment ago, nothing had been as important as the vision. But that was before she’d realized how much she had ached for Brude, though they had only been apart for three days.
The chiefs, all with long hair and thick mustaches, crowded into the hall with their war bands of young men, eager for battle. Tanwen entered the hall behind them with Brude’s muscular arm draped over her shoulder. Her skin tingled. It seemed he wanted to stay near her as much as she desired to be close to him.
Calach bid Tanwen to sit. He had a bowl of boiled pork and leeks as well as a platter of fresh-baked bread brought to her. She broke her three-day fast by digging into the tender meat. It melted in her mouth. As she savored the fresh, intere
sting taste that lingered on her tongue, servants rushed here and there, filling cups with heather mead. Everyone drank while the druidess ate. Brude raised his cup, brimming with mead, in her direction and winked. The memory of her first cup of heather mead and the cauldron of woad dye sent a rush of heat through her body, and her cheeks burned. She knew they blushed red. Finished with her meal, she pushed her bowl aside.
Calach made haste to seize the moment. He stood and addressed all those who had gathered in the feasting hall. “Grab your pointed spears, sharpen your long swords and shine your shields until they gleam, for the gods bid us to attack the 9th Legion Hispania.”
The Picts lifted their cups high, and mead splashed as they cheered.
When the chief nodded at Tanwen, she stood and raised her arms to the ceiling. The crowd fell silent. Even brave, hot-bloodied warriors would never dare interrupt a druid. “Men of the Pict, the gods gave me a vision of northern tribes united under Calach— one dire army. The gods go with us as we crush the 9th Legion. I shall cast a spell to lull the sentries into a deep sleep, and we shall raid the fort. The gods bid us to take no prisoners.”
Hurrahs rung through the hall. Spear bearers shook their long weapons so hard, the brass apples on them rattled with the din of impending victory. A zealous energy swelled in her. Rome’s demise was near at hand. A desire to scream the war cry of her now extinct tribe, the Ordovices, bubbled inside her. She almost grabbed a spear and led them all to war, as her grandmother had done.
Instead, having taken a deep breath, she pointed to the man at her side, her husband-to-be. “Brude, son of Calach, will lead the surprise attack.” In her mind, she saw him battling the Romans, brandishing his gleaming long sword. “Out-manned and caught off guard, the sleeping legionaries will not even have their armor on.” She gazed into the eyes of the chiefs standing before her, and she felt like a war leader, like Boudica. “Do not take time to sever their heads for battle trophies. Hasten to slay as many as you can, and then retreat into the woods before dawn.”
“So be it,” the men roared. “Victory is ours.”
Brude swung his head toward Calach. “Father, I bid we march now.” He turned to stare hard in the faces of each of the northern chiefs, challenging them to join Calach. “We ride to war to kill the Roman dogs and leave Governor Agricola shaking in his hobnail boots.”
Every chief, to a man, matched the young warrior’s gaze. Brude swallowed and kept his body straight with the full aplomb of a great war leader.
Tanwen schooled herself to not whoop with glee as tremulous pride rippled through her when, one by one, the northern chiefs stepped forward and swore allegiance to Brude.
Then, in a great flurry, the men scattered to their wheelhouses. Almost as suddenly, each returned, naked save for the permanent tattoos on their legs, arms, and chests. When the Morrigan gazed down on them from the sky, she saw only symbols of her power. No armor was stronger than bare skin with magical markings to insure the gods’ favor. The nobles clutched long swords and the other warriors grasped spears and shields. Tanwen smiled with pride.
Gethin ran to her, wearing only his braies. Huctia sprinted beside him, dressed in naught but a tunic. Each handed Tanwen a jug of leek oil.
“My thanks.” She turned to see that the warriors had lined up in front of her. Lossio stood beside her. She called upon the gods to be with the warriors as she and Lossio rubbed their muscular bodies with potent leek oil. Lastly, Tanwen rubbed the oil deep into Gethin’s chest and smoothed the leek potion over Huctia's toned arms and legs.
She grasped both of their hands. “Take care, my dear friends, and kill as many Romans as you can.”
“So be it,” said Gethin.
“That we will do,” added Huctia.
Tanwen’s heart beat as fast and as loud as a bodhran as she watched Brude vault onto his stallion. Swirls of blue tattoos etched into his flesh spread up his legs, from just below his knees up his sinewy, muscular thighs. Engraved with the warrior design, his body was an absolute living work of art—and a deadly weapon. Blue Celtic tracery swirled to his buttocks, which were as firm and rounded as a standing stone. His waist was the only part of him not bare; it was ringed by a belt of hemp, dyed blue with woad and tied in intricate Celtic knots, one after the other, from which his sword hung. Wild beasts drawn with swirls of blue flowed up the plane of his back, across the bunched muscles and streamed to his shoulders and down his arm.
She took a deep breath. Her burning, throbbing body lurched forward, urging her to leap on the horse with him. She clutched her chest. Gods, bring him back safely. He cannot end up covered with blood. He is needed by his tribe, all of Caledonia, and me.
She hung her head and solemnly prayed to the gods with all her might. Lifting her eyes, she watched the other Pict nobles vault onto their horses. The rode at a gallop behind Brude. Then, at their rear, Huctia, Gethin and the other foot warriors ran toward the camp of the 9th Legion.
* * * * *
A dry wind whipped Tanwen’s hair about her face as she took the well-worn dirt path to the top of the green hill. She raised her arms to the night sky.
“Hail, Goddess Andraste.
War is in your heart,
and you are in
the heart of warriors.”
Her arms tingled as the energy of the goddess streamed through her.
“Onward to battle.
In your wake,
our enemies quake.”
An inner heat pulsated from her toes to her fingertips to the top of her head.
“Come Forth, Andraste,
undefeated battle heroine,
mounted on Maten,
galloping across the sky.”
The vitality of the goddess flowed in her.
“Hear my call.
On magic stallion,
fly to me,
goddess of victory.”
She leaned her head back and let the goddess form her words as she chanted a sleeping spell to cast the Roman guards into a deep slumber.
“Drift away.” Images of Roman sentries dropping off to sleep filled her mind. She was but a breeze circling around the legionaries. “Deep, deep, deep in sleep.” Though they were far away, she magically surrounded them and lulled them. “Sleep, Roman sentries, sleep.”
The virile energy which had jolted through her now vanished. Dizzy and spent, she sat down on the ground, crossed her legs in druid fashion then breathed deeply to restore her stamina. Brude and his men would slay the slumbering guards with ease and take the fort by surprise. She’d given Brude the advantage he needed, calling for the justice and vengeance of the goddess’s long ash spear. Now, she but waited for him to return alive and whole.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on the image of Brude’s full smile, which lit up his entire face, with its evenly spaced features and magnetic eyes that her soul dove into. She could gaze at him forever. She whispered aloud to the wind, “Brude, I love you.”
* * * * *
The nude Pict warriors rode and ran into the dense forest that bordered the fort. Those on horses dismounted. They gathered around Brude, along with the warriors on foot.
“Here, under the cover of bush and bracken, we will hide until night conceals all in darkness. Then, we attack. “Brude watched over the warriors of the confederated army of northern tribes as they climbed up trees and hid behind trunks, their flesh bare like the other animals of the woods. Only they were deadlier than the beasts. Brude set his mind to think like an animal, for he had to kill or be killed. He would run as fast as a galloping horse and attack with the viciousness of a female boar. He would tear into his enemies like a wild wolf and strike as silently as a snake.
The massacres at the druid learning center on Ynys Mon kindled his rage. The Romans had slaughtered sacred peacekeepers, holy men and women. He recalled stories of women, even maidens who had not yet reached womanhood, raped by gangs of legionaries and auxiliaries. Women and children were captured and enslaved by Romans,
shackled in heavy chains and then shipped overseas. Dogs were not treated as cruelly as the Romans treated his people.
With his blood lust boiling and a war scowl on his face, Brude led his men through the forest. He and his warriors stepped so lightly, their footsteps fell silent. The men near nut trees and berry bushes picked nuts and fruit and then dispersed them to the others. They all munched like squirrels, more to pass the time as they waited than to stave off hunger.
Thoughts of Tanwen filled Brude’s mind as he squatted behind the trunk of an ancient oak. The confidence by which she held her head high and her piercing, eyes lent strength and bravery to her beauty, enhancing the delicate features of her face. Thoughts of her legs, her hips, her breasts, all slender yet curvy, scorched his blood and powered his heart into a pounding rhythm. But to wake up to the same woman each day, eat all meals with the same woman and to have to wait while she healed someone or performed a ritual to the gods—the services of a tribe druid would be more important than being with her husband.
There would be no marriage. He was not ready.
Passion rose in him like a hot fire as he thought of sleeping with her every night. His heart felt warm and buoyant with pride for Tanwen, if not for her druid skills, they wouldn’t have this victory in their grasp. She was their druid now. The tribe needed her, and so did he.
And it would be useful to have a wife favored by the gods. As the tribe’s druidess, she would be the one to conduct the bull dream and see his visage during the ritual. She would choose him as the new chief. When she told him Boudica chose him to be her husband, he knew it meant he would be the next chief. She’d already blessed him with that news and this battle. He had itched for the chance to kill Romans since the 9th Hispania moved to the Tay. Men among that legion had raped and murdered several women from local tribes. Knowing these women, and imagining the changes the attacks had brought on them, caused hot rage to rise in him. If anything ever happened to Tanwen—if a Roman ever touched her …
The Warrior and the Druidess Page 6