very straight in the saddle so that no one would know she was afraid.
She blinked back memories of blue waters hazed with magic and conical
thatched roofs against a fading sky, a crowd of bearded men in white
robes and veiled women with eyes full of secrets, and the little shock as
they passed between the carved and painted gateposts that warded Lys
Deru—the court of the oaks.
They had taken her to the House of Maidens. Eight girls of varying
ages, from nine or ten to fourteen, her own age, stared back at her.
“Is it always cold here?” Boudica asked. She did not know whether
she was shivering from exhaustion or from magic.
“Cold?” answered a dark-haired girl who had been introduced as
Brenna. “In the winter surely, but now it is spring!” She was dressed in
the simple sleeveless tunica of undyed linen that all the girls wore,
pinned at the shoulders with bronze fi bulae and girded with green.
“You will learn how to keep your inner fire burning so that you are
not cold,” Brenna went on. “But for now, let us see if we can make it
warmer in here . . .” She frowned in concentration, then gestured, and
the sticks on the central hearth burst suddenly into flame. From Brenna’s
smile, Boudica thought that she had only lately learned this skill herself.
She smiled back, trying not to show how much the feat had impressed
her. She might be a novice to magic, but she came of royal kin and had
been fostered in the household of the great king Cunobelin.
Boudica was very aware of having lived in the woolen tunica and
breeches she wore beneath it for the past month of journeying, but the
simple garments the other girls were wearing seemed a poor alternative.
And as for a wash—the Druids probably bathed in the chill waters of the
stream. She straightened and stroked the fox fur edging of her cloak,
which was so near in color to her hair. Better they should think her vain
4 D i ana L . Pax s on
than weak. She had wept the fi rst few nights of this journey across Bri-
tannia, huddled in cloak and blankets upon the hard ground, but she
would not do so now.
“You are from the Iceni country, are you not? Let me introduce you
to the rest of our company. This is Coventa—” Brenna put her arm
around a small fair-haired girl. “She comes from the Brigante lands, like
me. And that’s Mandua, of the Atrebates—” She pointed to an older girl
with a discontented face. As the names flowed by, Boudica saw curiosity
and judgment in their eyes.
Clad, as they were, all alike, she could not tell which ones were the
daughters of chieftains and which were the daughters of farmers. That
was probably the intention. It was customary to give the children of
good families a season or two among the Druids so that they might have
a grounding in the deeper philosophy behind the superstitions of the
common folk. But the peasant children chosen by the priests for their
talent might well look down on those whose birth was their only quali-
fication for being here. Boudica had already sworn they would have no
cause to look down on her.
“But the Isle of Mona belongs to no tribe,” Brenna fi nished. “That
is why the School of the Mysteries was established here at Lys Deru.”
“Truly?” asked Mandua. “I thought we settled out here at the end of
the world to stay beyond the reach of Rome.”
Boudica sat down on the bed, remembering the sheer mass and
might of the mountains they had passed. And yet the road, however dif-
ficult, had brought her here. In Camulodunon it had seemed that noth-
ing was beyond Rome’s reach. But here, so far from everything she had
ever known, she was not so sure. She summoned up a bright smile for
the other girls.
“I bless the hour of our meeting. I am sure you will all have many
things to tell me . . .”
“It is Lhiannon you have to listen to,” said little Coventa with a
laugh. “Helve has the title Mistress of the House of Maidens, but Lhian-
non does the work—” She broke off at Brenna’s frown. “Well, it’s true,
and is not truth what we are seeking here?”
Boudica lifted an eyebrow. “If it is, then the Druids are diff erent
from any other group of people I ever knew,” she said dryly.
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5
“Do you think you know so much more because you were fostered
in a king’s dun?” objected Brenna. “Here we serve the gods!”
“But you are not yet gods yourselves.” Boudica shrugged. “The
Druids who served King Cunobelin were as avid for power as any of his
chieftains.”
Coventa frowned. “Perhaps living in the world corrupted them.”
“Well, we must not quarrel about it on your first night
here,”
Brenna said peaceably. “What was it like in Camulodunon? Does Cuno-
belin’s dun really have golden thatching and marble walls?”
Boudica laughed. “Only the gold of wheatstraw, but it is cut in lay-
ered patterns, and the outer walls are whitewashed and painted in spirals
of color.”
“It sounds like a dwelling of the gods,” sighed Brenna.
“It was . . .” said Boudica, eyes prickling with a sudden surge of
longing for the place that had been her home since she was seven years
old. But the great king was dead, his household dispersed, and her father
had sent her here to the end of the world.
“We are not gods here, but we will not let you starve—” came a
voice from the doorway.
Looking up, Boudica saw a slim young woman in the blue robe of a
full priestess whose fair hair fell halfway down her back beneath a dark
veil. As she came into the roundhouse, the other girls straightened and
bowed.
Boudica cast her a swift look, wondering how much she had heard.
If the woman was a power in this place, she would have to treat her
carefully. She looked again and found her glance held by eyes of a blue
so light they seemed luminous. The blue crescent of the Goddess was
tattooed between pale brows.
“My name is Lhiannon,” the woman said then. As she smiled her
lashes veiled that blue gaze, and Boudica was able to look away. “I will
be your teacher.”
The current in the stream was running fast and strong. Overhead,
three ravens called as they danced on the wind.
Boudica had been glad for a break from lessons, but fi ghting the
6 D i ana L . Pax s on
water was not her idea of fun. She waded carefully toward the middle of
the stream, where brown waters were frothing around a tangle of branches.
The stream was said to be sacred to the goddess Brigantia, but if so, she
was an angry goddess now.
The priests had set all the young ones to clearing the course of the
creek that flowed behind Lys Deru, swollen now with water from
the spring rains. The flood had brought down quantities of debris that
choked the watercourse and threatened to flood the roundhouses, and
the ditch that kept cattle from wandering into the village was not deep
>
enough to carry the overflow. As Lhiannon pointed out, they always
needed firewood. It would have been ungrateful to waste the bounty.
The young priest Ardanos, who the girls said was courting Lhian-
non, had told them that clearing the stream would be a service to the
spirit who lived there. Boudica hoped so. She got a good grip on the
nearest branch and began to pull, swore as her fingers slipped on the wet
bark, and pulled again. Something gave way, then snagged. A twig had
hooked under another branch and was holding it there. Clearly, this task
needed more hands. She turned, eyes narrowing as she looked for the
others. More clouds were piling up overhead. The rocky coast that
fronted the sea of Eriu would take the worst of any storm, but the rain
would sweep across the island.
“Mandua!” she called, recognizing the girl’s brown braid. “Mandua—
lift that branch for me so I can get this one free!” The other girl turned
in surprise, then tossed the stick she held toward the bank and began to
splash downstream.
It had been a good idea, Boudica thought as the wood came free. A
branch this size would keep a fire going for hours. And the pile was full
of more just like it. It seemed a pity to waste time hauling the branch she
had all the way back to the bank. She glanced at the other muddy
forms.
“Senora! Coventa! Come here. We can pull this wood in ever so
much faster if we pass it hand to hand! The boys won’t get nearly so
much.” As they looked at her doubtfully she pointed downstream,
where the lads were working. “They promised that those who made the
biggest pile of firewood would get honeycakes tonight.”
In a few minutes she had Brenna and Kea tackling the next log pile,
M A RI O N Z I M M E R B RA D L E Y ’ S RAV E N S O F AVA L O N
7
with the smaller girls helping them. Boudica hauled at the wet wood,
lips pulled back in a fierce grin. It no longer mattered that this was no
fit labor for a royal woman of the Iceni. So many of the Druid ways
were strange to her, it was a relief to tackle something that she could
really do!
Lost in the rhythm of the work, she had no attention for anything
but the tangles of wood before her. It was only when there were no
hands ready to take the next log that she focused once more on her sur-
roundings.
“I can’t hold it, Boudica—my hands are numb!” Senora held them up.
“Trade places with Coventa and put your hands in your armpits
while you wait for her to hand you the next one,” she ordered. “Come,
Coventa—no, it’s not too deep. Here, take this end of the stick and pass
it along.”
Coventa looked almost as pale as Senora, but she obeyed. Now the
others were whining as well. Boudica was cold and wet, too, but that
must not be allowed to matter. They were making good progress. The
brown water ran swiftly where they had cleared the channel, and the pile
of branches on the bank was higher than Coventa.
“Haven’t we done enough?” asked Mandua, shouting above the
rush of the stream. “I can’t feel my feet anymore!”
“Not until we are done,” called Boudica. “Look, there is only this
last pile and our part of the stream will be clear.”
The light was fading, but she could see where to grip the next piece
of wood. She inched her way toward it, bracing herself against the cur-
rent, which had grown stronger as the obstructions were taken away.
As she touched the bark she heard a scream.
“Coventa! Coventa fell!” Senora was waving wildly, pointing down-
stream.
Boudica caught sight of a pale bubble of cloth bobbing past and
launched herself in a low dive. Her hands, colder than she had allowed
herself to realize, tried to close on the cloth and failed. She went down,
got her feet under her, lunged, and caught the other girl by one arm.
Coventa’s cold flesh was slippery, but Boudica held on. Now both went
under. Was it a waterlogged branch that was tangling in her tunica or
cold hands that sought to drag her down? Once more she struggled
8 D i ana L . Pax s on
upright, grabbing Coventa around the body. Brenna splashed toward
her with the others behind her. Hand to hand they passed the girl to the
shore, and then Brenna was helping Boudica up the bank, where she sat,
teeth chattering as much with shock as with cold.
Presently Ardanos lifted her to her feet and she was hustled back to
the House of Maidens. Coventa had been taken to the healers, but no one
seemed to care that Boudica, too, was wet and chilled to the bone. She
rubbed herself dry as best she could and pulled on a wool tunica and her
fur-trimmed cloak, then sat by the little fire with only the stone head of
the house spirit in its niche by the threshold for company.
Were they going to send her home? Boudica did not know whether
to hope or to fear. To go home in defeat would gall her soul. She would
rather stay the year, and when the tribesmen came with next year’s of-
ferings she could choose to leave with them.
Her hair had dried from wet auburn to its usual curling red-gold
when the hide that covered the door rustled. Boudica looked up and
recognized Lhiannon’s slender silhouette in the gloom.
“Why are you sitting here? Dinner is ready and I saw you were not
there. Aren’t you hungry?”
Boudica nodded. “No one came. I thought I was being punished.”
“Ah . . .” Lhiannon poked at the coals and a spurt of flame gleamed
on her fair hair. With a sigh she sat down on the other side of the fi re.
“Do you think that you should be?”
“No!” the answer burst out. “It was an accident! The river was run-
ning fast—anyone could have fallen! And . . . I think the stream spirit
wants an off ering.”
“That has been attended to,” Lhiannon replied. She waited, holding
Boudica in that calm blue gaze until the girl had gotten her breathing
under control once more.
“Is Coventa all right?” Boudica swallowed, remembering how limp
the other girl had been in her arms.
“Well,” said Lhiannon, “if that was not the first thing you said, at
least you asked . . . We think Coventa knocked her head on a stone
when she went down. But she is awake now, and asking for food. The
healers will keep her for a time to make sure the water she swallowed
has done her no harm, but she should recover well.”
M A RI O N Z I M M E R B RA D L E Y ’ S RAV E N S O F AVA L O N
9
“I am glad,” Boudica whispered. She sat back, relief at the release of
a fear she had not known she felt sending a flush of heat through her
veins.
“You should be. So I will ask again—do you think we should pun-
ish you?”
The girl shrugged. “People always look for someone to blame when
something goes wrong.” She had seen that all too often in King Cuno-
belin’s hall.
“Let us look at it another way,” Lhiannon said. “If Coventa had
died, would you owe compensation for her loss
?”
Boudica looked up at her, understanding that this was a diff erent
question. “Do you mean that what happened was my responsibility?”
Lhiannon looked at her, the pale eyes gleaming faintly. “Why was
Coventa in the stream?”
“Because you ordered us to clear out the wood that blocked it!”
snapped Boudica.
“Indeed, and it should not surprise you to hear that the High Priest-
ess and I have already had the same conversation that you and I are hav-
ing now. That you were there at all was my fault, and I should have
stayed to supervise you.”
“But we were doing very well . . .”
“It was a good plan,” Lhiannon agreed, “but even the greatest war-
rior cannot fi ght well with a weakened sword.”
Boudica frowned, seeing in her mind’s eye the small form of the
younger girl. “She was too little . . .” she said at last.
“She was not up to the job you had given her, and all of you had
worked too hard and too long. It is my guess that you have not spent
much time with other children—is that not so?” As Boudica nodded she
went on. “You come of the Belgic race, who are a tall and vigorous
people, and you yourself are strong beyond most girls your age. You
must learn to see others as they are, not as you would wish them to be.
You made yourself their leader, and so they were your responsibility.”
“King Cunobelin had a gift for that,” said Boudica. “Even when
men tried to betray him they served his purposes, because he put them
in positions where their natural inclination would further his goals. But
I am only a girl. I never thought—”
10 D i ana L . Pax s on
“Do you think that because you are a woman you have no power?
They say that among the Romans it is otherwise, but we Druids know
that the Goddess is the source of sovereignty, and it is through the
queens and priestesses that it is bestowed upon men. And you are the
child of generations of chieftains. I am not surprised that the other girls
obeyed.”
The girl bristled at the tone. What did this woman know about the
ways of kings? But she had a point—Boudica had always been subject to
someone. It had never occurred to her that she, too, might have power.
“I understand,” she said slowly.
“Well, if you do, then something useful has come out of this day!”
Lhiannon said briskly. “Come with me now and get something hot in
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