Huctia got the other large bowl of water, cleaned up the afterbirth and then washed Tanwen.
Brude stared at the squirming infant. His eyes were still closed, and his small mouth was opened wide as he continued to yell. "Boudicius, my son.” Brude cooed gently to the baby and snuggled up against Tanwen, kissing her cheek and chin. “You have made me so happy.” Brude’s throat was muted with joy. He turned his gaze to the pink-faced, screaming baby and softly fluttered his lips upon its tiny forehead. The baby hushed.
Tanwen gently ran her hands across the babe’s head. “Greetings, my son. Boudicius, you are welcomed here in the Caledonii tribe, land of the Picts, free of Roman rule.” She smiled and sung softly. “Hush little one, while I sing to you our father, mother baby song.”
“He has the look of you, Brude,” Ciniatha said.
Everyone but Ciniatha and the baby broke out in laughter.
Tanwen grinned at her mother-by-marriage. “I do not see the resemblance right now, but I’m sure you are right.”
“Wise answer.” Brude chuckled.
“Here.” Huctia handed Tanwen a goblet she just filled with ale.
Tanwen sipped it slowly, savoring each calming drop.
“I need one as well.” Brude poured a cup of ale and gulped it down. “The Lughnasa fire and wheel will be lit at dawn. Did you want to have the first grain ceremony now?”
“Yes. Bring the loaf,” Tanwen said.
“No,” Huctia chided. “You must rest.”
“Boudicius is the son of a druidess. It is good that in less than a span of the sun after his birth, he witnesses a Lughnassa ceremony. He will love it. Bring the sacred bread.”
“There is no stopping her,” Brude said to Huctia.
Ciniatha smiled. “I will bring the loaf.” She left to get the bread that the other women had baked from the first grain while she had helped her grandson come into the world.
Brude handed the baby back to Tanwen, and they sat together on the bed, peering and cooing at the now quiet child. Huctia sat on the chair at Tanwen’s bedside.
Ciniatha retuned, cradling the sacred, golden-brown loaf in her hands. “Look who I brought.”
Lossio entered behind her. He flashed a radiant smile at first sight of the baby. “A fine son. The gods have been good.”
“Yes.” Tanwen flashed a beaming smile at him.
“I will perform the ritual while you stay in bed with the baby.”
“I will not argue with you, Lossio.” Feeling exhausted and light headed, she didn’t think she could get up if she wanted to.
“The moon has risen, so it is time to begin.” Lossio spread his arms wide. The weathered man looked regal in his flowing, gold-speckled robe.
Calach entered the chamber, bringing Gethin and Laca with him. Brude eased off the bed and stood like everyone else except for Tanwen, who stayed in bed, cradling Boudicius in her arms.
“Lleu Long Arm, shining one, god of the sun, we gather here to give thanks for the bounty of your harvest. For the light you shined on the crops, we honor you. Our bellies will be full, even in the dark of winter.”
Ciniatha stepped forward. “Lleu of the sure hand, we come together to share our first baked loaf. As you honored us with a fruitful harvest, we honor you with our labor in reaping, threshing and baking.”
Tanwen lifted little Boudicius into the air and invoked, “Great Goddess of Lughnassa, Macha, your womb of earth birthed our wheat, which gives us life. You bless us with fertility. On this, your day, I gave birth to my first born son. I thank you for our bountiful crops. I thank you for Boudicius and the other children which have been born to the tribe from the last Lughnassa to this one.”
Ciniatha handed Lossio the loaf. He broke off a piece and passed it to Calach, who tore off another and gave it to Brude and handed the bread to Ciniatha, who in turn gave it to Huctia, who passed it to Gethin, who gave it to Laca.
Tanwen’s heart clinched. She smiled down on her newborn son, an incredible miracle from the gods. This was her family, her husband, her mother and father by marriage and the others were brothers and sisters to her, even Laca. She knew Boudica was looking on. Again, she wished so much that Rhys and Sulwen could be here.
Lossio took the loaf from the Roman and handed it to Tanwen. She broke off her hunk of bread. “Goddess of fertility, of seed and flower, as you give to us, we give to you. Accept our offering.” She handed the last chunk of bread to Lossio.
“God and Goddess, as you, the earth and sun, conceived our grain, we bless you. We call on you to bless our tribe as we share this bread.” Lossio walked out of the chamber to the fire in the central hearth of the round house. He tossed a piece of bread into the flames. As it burned to a crisp, the smoke curled and rose to the gods. He danced around the blaze, chanting.
From her perch on the bed, with Boudicius in her arms, Tanwen chanted with him. “Earth gave us life. Death returns us to her womb. Unending, the circle runs forevermore. Sun, earth, and grain, all which falls, shall rise again.”
Tanwen stuffed the piece of bread into her mouth as the others did the same. The soft warmth melted on her tongue as she chewed. It was so delicious, so filling ….so blessed. Then, she bared her breast and put Boudicius to her nipple. Her breast tingled as his lips clasped around her nipple and his tiny mouth began to suckle her milk.
* * * * *
At dawn’s light, as Tanwen and his baby boy slept, Brude led Huctia, Gethin and the Roman up an old path to the hill where the Caledonii tribe and the visiting chiefs waited for them. Brude grinned broadly as people congratulated him. He was a father. He had a baby. This was the best Lughnassa ever. His eyes drank in the beauty of the vibrant, azure sky, which began so pale then deepened to the truest blue. He gazed up at the brilliant, glowing ball, the hue of the bit of bright orange tuft on a Caledonian bee. Joy beamed within him, as dazzling as the dawn sun. His spirit floated high in the sky. He’d never known he could be so happy.
Lossio led Brude, Calach and the others around the tall standing stone nine times. Cupping his hands, the gray-headed druid dipped them into the pond by the megalith and drank of its water for clarity and wisdom. From the hill, Brude gazed at the fertile fields below. Tribesman blared bronze horns and blew their pipes as Lossio approached the spoked wagon wheel, which was coated with black, gooey tar.
Brude joined in the chant as Lossio led, “The sun burns, yet winter nears. The season turns. Summer comes to an end. Sun and earth, Lleu and Macha. Life to death, the wheel turns, Lughnassa, Lughnassa.”
“Life to death, a new life had come last night. His own son. With that though he repeated the chant even louder. “The Seasons turn. Life to death. Lughnassa.”
Garbed in a gold-speckled robe, Lossio struck a flint and held that spark to a torch so it flared into a brilliant flame. With that firebrand, he lit the wheel on fire. With an iron rod in hand, he rolled it down the hill. “The end of Lleu’s reign, god of the sun.”
Brude kept pace with Lossio as he ran with the burning wheel, the rolling symbol of the sun. The flaming wheel reached its end and crumbed into burning wood and ash. The crowd stopped in their tracks, took each other’s hands and moved in a slow circle around the dying Lleu.
Focusing on the gods, Lossio spread his arms into the air. “The sun begins its journey into dark winter. The season turns, sun and earth, life to death. Winter nears, Lughnassa, Lughnassa.”
Brude was part of the turning season. He’d transformed from warrior to husband and now to father. With the fire nothing more than smoldering embers and the wheel no more than ashes, he knew his future consisted of Tanwen, Boudicius and their other children to come. That thought was on his mind when he turned his head to the sound of riders.
A small group of Romans rode away from the pits where the grain was stored. He could barely make out the billowing smoke in the dark of night. But he knew. His stomach lurched. “How did they get by us?”
He charged down the hill and to the stables and q
uickly mounted, as did his men. Lossio and others from the Lughnassa celebration handed torches to several of the riders so they could easily follow the Romans in the dark. Those not clutching firebrands held long spears at the ready.
Brude raised his long, black, iron weapon in the air. “After them.” He slapped his thighs against his stallion’s flanks and took off at a dirt-kicking gallop.
His men spurred into a hard gait behind him in pursuit of the fleeing Romans. The foreign soldiers had a head start, but they were riding in the dark and were unfamiliar with the territory. Brude and his men gained on them. When Brude had them close in his sights, he aimed and hurled his spear, which struck and impaled one Roman. The man fell to the ground, quivering in death throes. The others tried to escape, but Brude’s men launched their spears. Soon, only three Romans were left alive. They reined their horses in and surrendered to Brude.
“What do we do with these three?” Gethin asked.
“Sever their heads. We will dip them in cedar oil and tie them around our horses. They will come to know that if they battle with us, their souls are forfeit. When the Romans see their comrades’ heads hanging on our horses, they’ll ken it then.”
Chapter Sixteen
“If I follow your advice, the tribe will never make it through the winter.” Calach’s brows drew together.
“A battle will not change that.” Sitting on a fox pelt facing his father, Brude leaned closer to him. Sunlight flitted through the tiny slits between the thatch of the roof. Having just had a son himself, Brude noticed the creases at his father’s eyes and the lines at his mouth, the signs of aging. “Do not forget, the raids are working. They burnt the grain to push us into a battle on their terms. Just ask Laca or Tanwen. They’ll tell you about Agricola’s tactics.” His voice grew louder. “Her mother’s tribe, the Iceni, were wiped out when they fought them on a battlefield rather than small surprise attacks.”
Sitting face to face, Calach peered deeply into his son’s eyes. “What happened to our neighbors in Albion has much to do with my decision. We are at the farthest north of the island, the last of the free, save for those in Erinn. If we don’t stop the Romans, they will attack Erinn next. We were shrouded by obscurity, but now we lie open to our enemies.”
“So we must stop them, on that Tanwen and I agree with you. This you know. And to that end, the raids are best.”
“If we win the battle, the Romans will be gone for good and, yes, it will help. We will have the supplies from their forts to see us through. It’s better to die in battle than to starve.” Calach lifted his chin in the air.
Brude drew in a long breath. “This is true, and I feel the same way.”
“Tanwen knows, as do all Celts, that what the Romans call government is, in truth, robbery, butchery and rape. They create deserted villages, destroy entire tribes and call it peace. If you and others do not choose to follow me into battle, you will end up submitting to Roman taxes, unjust laws and laboring in the dark mines like slaves,” Calach said in a firm tone of authority. “Think of your son. If you and Tanwen do not want Boudicius to endure atrocities his entire life, then you will join me for a quick end and swift revenge. For by fighting Agricola in a great battle, we will be victorious.”
Brude lowered his gaze from his father’s hawk-like eyes. Calach began to make sense to him. He felt fired and ready to fight in a huge battle, to destroy all of Agricola’s legions at one time. He struggled with those thoughts, for he knew Tanwen deemed otherwise. She had an infuriating habit of being right. Most druids did. It was another reason he hadn’t wanted to marry one. Though he chuckled as thoughts of the heat of her skin, the softness of her willing flesh, the earthy flora and fauna scent of her, her long red hair and the things she could do in bed reminded him that he’d made a good decision to wed a druidess, after all.
Brude’s lips parted in a half smile. “Well as you dream of this glorious battle, I must go speak to my druid wife and explain why her wise counsel has been disregarded by her chief.” His mind spun. How will I ever convince her? What will I say? Boudicius. She will do what is best for our son. If we do not fight a pitch battle to free the land of the Romans, Boudicius may come to live in subjection to them. Tanwen will not like that. It will give her cause to change her mind.
“It is a good job for a man who will be chief one day. A good test. And better you than me.” Calach chuckled.
* * * * *
Tanwen sat on the pallet in her wheelhouse gazing at the sweet face of her son, who was hungrily suckling at her breast. Glancing up, she saw Ciniatha at the doorway.
“Greetings. You have come in time to see your grandson feed.”
Ciniatha entered and flashed a warm smile at her grandson and Tanwen . “He is such a good baby.”
“Yes, but he’s got a vicious war cry for a babe and he uses it all the time,” Huctia said as she swept a straw broom across the packed dirt floor.
Tanwen’s nipple dropped out of the child’s mouth, and he didn’t seem to want any more at that moment. “Would you like to hold him?” Tanwen picked up the dry cloth lying in her lap and wiped a dab of drool off the baby’s chin.
Ciniatha walked over to Tanwen. “I have come to see if you’d like me to care for him while you finish any tasks you have today.” She held out her arms and Tanwen handed the baby to her. “Brude is speaking with his father, and I left them to their discussion.” She cradled her grandson against her chest, gently swaying to and fro in a slight rocking motion.
“Did you?” Tanwen nibbled her lower lip. “Huctia, you and I do need to gather some herbs.”
“Yes, I think a walk in the woods would do you good.” Huctia grabbed two baskets and handed one to Tanwen.
Tanwen swung her legs over the bed and stood. She fluttered a soft kiss on Boudicius’ forehead and bid farewell to Ciniatha.
With Huctia at her side, she strolled into the woods, swinging the wicker basket in her hand. Bending down, she plucked all the fat hen plants she came across out of the ground. She glanced at Huctia and saw she also had filled her basket with fat hen leaves.
“This will help. With the harvest destroyed, the succulent leaves will keep the tribe from going hungry,” Tanwen said.
“We need more than plants.”
“The cattle are healthy. We will make do.” Tanwen shrugged. “I’m more worried about what Brude and Calach are speaking about.”
“What do you think they are talking about?” Huctia asked as she plucked another fat hen leaf from its stalk.
Tanwen set her filled basket down on the grass. She crossed her arms. “What everyone speaks of— they want to fight a pitched battle.”
“Mayhaps they are right,” Huctia said softly.
Tanwen pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. “I cannot talk them out of it.” She paced back and forth. “It will take place, right or wrong. I need to call upon the gods and do what I can.” Her throat tightened. “I do not want my son to lose his father.” She clasped her hand over her mouth, smothering a sob. Tears formed in her eyes, and Huctia reached out, hugging her. Tanwen let her wall down and sobbed freely on her friend’s shoulder.
She raised her head off Huctia’s shoulder and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hands. With her tears gone, she took a deep breath and gathered her strength. Sulwen’s words came to her with so much clarity, it seemed more than a memory, almost as if she was speaking to her right now.
“We should have never let the women and children come. We were trapped by the family wagons. They were all slaughtered. The women, children, and elderly must be protected, always, just in case the battle fails. Rome cannot annihilate any tribe if the children are hidden and kept safe. The women, children and the elderly can carry the tales of the tribe, which are a sacred treasure.”
“Trapped,” Tanwen said under her breath.
“What are you speaking of, Bright One? Have you scried something?” Huctia’s eyes widened, and her lashes flew up. She held her br
eath, waiting for Tanwen to voice some profound revelation that only druids seem to be capable of.
“The gods have answered, my dear friend, I ken what we must do.” Her body vibrated with a sense of confidence and certainty. She basked in this new knowledge.
At that moment, she spotted a tall, muscular man heading for her. She ran up to him, leaving her basket of fat hen leaves on the ground. “Brude.” She grasped and held him by the hard bicep of his arm. “I must speak to you. I ken what we must do.”
“I came here to speak to you.” A grimace fleeted across his lips. “I have just come from Calach. It is not good news.”
“I am sure it is what I expected.” She turned her head toward Huctia. “Get my basket and bring it back with you to the wheelhouse. I need to go now.” She leaned her head back to gaze into Brude’s eyes. He blinked in bafflement. She let out a soft chortle. “All will be well. Let me tell you.” She let go of his upper arm and took his hand. “Come.” She dragged him out of the woods, past the homes and various Caledonii tribesmen who greeted them as they passed by until they entered their wheelhouse.
They both smiled and nodded at Ciniatha, who sat on a stool with the baby in her arms. She was telling him a story of heroes of old. Tanwen plopped down on a soft pelt before the central fire. Brude sat down at her side. Both crossed their legs in a comfortable position.
“What is it?” Brude asked.
“Sulwen often told me of what happened at the final battle. When Boudica called retreat, she found that she and her army were trapped. She had not foreseen that the family wagons of women, children and the elderly who came to watch the victory she expected over Rome, would block the only way out.”
“Yes. I know of this.”
She shook her head. “They were wrong. The women and children shouldn’t have been near the battlefield.”
The Warrior and the Druidess Page 16