Lannosea backed away before turning to run.
Rianna cradled the unconscious girl’s head in her lap, talking quietly in encouraging tones.
‘Hang on, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘We’ll make you better, I promise.’
* * *
Back in the camp of the Iceni, Boudicca was waking from her own nightmare. A shaman was chanting her incantations over her beaten body and Boudicca realised she was back in her hut. For a few seconds she couldn’t recall what had happened but when she tried to move and the fire returned to her flesh, the recollection came flooding back and she relived every cutting slash of the soldier’s whip. Suddenly she remembered her daughters and looked up at the shaman.
‘My girls,’ she said. ‘Where are they? Are they alright?’
‘I know not, my Queen,’ said the Shaman, ‘all I know is that they escaped the camp with Rianna.’
Boudicca eased back onto the furs, her mind calmed by the fact they were with Rianna.
‘What of the others?’ asked Boudicca.
‘Many are dead,’ said the Shaman, ‘killed by the Roman swords. They routed the village killing most of the men. They tried to fight but were unprepared. When that was done, they turned their attentions on the women and children, deflowering the maidens in a drunken stupor. We are tending to those who are wounded but the village is devastated. All your wealth has gone and the elders taken into slavery. There is nothing left, my Queen, they have destroyed it all.’
Boudicca shook her head.
‘No, Shaman, you are wrong,’ she said. ‘They have left the one thing that they should have taken first; they left my life, and as long as I have that I swear I will repay this day. For every man they have wounded we will have retribution. For every woman they have abused we will match their pain tenfold and for every life taken we will slaughter a thousand. Be swift with your ointments, Shaman, for there is work to do.’
‘You will need to rest,’ said the Shaman.
‘I need to do nothing except revenge my people,’ answered Boudicca. ‘These wounds are flesh deep only; it is my very soul that is scarred. Make me well or I will find one who will.’
* * *
Back at the Roman camp site, Heanua, Lannosea and Rianna helped each other into the forest. Heanua was weak from her ordeal but between them, they managed to reach the stream and followed it until they found a reasonably-sized pool.
‘This will have to do,’ said Rianna.
‘For what?’ asked Lannosea.
‘We have to get clean before infection sets in,’ said Rianna. ‘It may be too late for me but we must try.’
‘It looks cold,’ said Heanua.
‘It will be,’ said Rianna, ‘but we must be strong. Filth is the home of infection and you should clean your injuries.’
Without undressing, the girls stepped gingerly into the water and walked toward the middle, gasping as it reached up past their waists. Rianna followed them in and together they crouched until the water covered their shoulders.
‘Take off your dresses,’ she said, ‘and scrub them against the rocks. Beat them until they are clean and then use the clean material to wash your bodies.’
‘I don’t think any amount of washing will make me clean ever again,’ said Heanua.
‘This is not just for your body but your spirit,’ said Rianna. ‘Allow the clean waters of the Iceni to wash away the stain of the Romans. Embrace the biting cold for it will rip away the hurt and the shame. Allow it to help you, Heanua, for these waters are borne of our lands and have nurtured us since we were born. The water gods will help heal your body and mind.’
The girls nodded and set about washing themselves, gently at first but with growing anger. Finally they left the stream and put on their wet clothes.
‘Come on,’ said Rianna, ‘we have to get back to the village.’
* * *
Though the distance was only a mile, it seemed to take hours to reach the village. The further they went, the more concerned Rianna became as there was no sign of any of their people. At this time of day there should be all sorts out on the tracks. Traders, hunters, herders or even just children playing but there were none of these and the trails were strangely silent.
Finally they reached the village and entered through the gated wall to a scene of devastation. Most houses were burned down and those that were left had their doors ripped off their leather hinges. All around people were shuffling aimlessly, each nursing their own wounds, struggling to understand what had happened. Bodies lay in their hundreds and women searched amongst them to find their loved ones. Smoke filled the air and in one corner, Rianna could see several makeshift crosses, the crucified bodies riddled with arrows having been used as target practise by the Roman archers.
As they walked through the village in silence, empty eyes stared toward them, seeking explanation for the atrocities – but they had no answers. Eventually they reached the centre and Heanua ran forward to her mother’s roundhouse, unable to wait any longer.
‘Mother,’ she shouted and burst into the darkened room.
‘Heanua, you are alive,’ said Boudicca. ‘Thank the gods.’
The girl ran forward to the bed, her brow furrowing as she saw the injured state of the queen.
‘Mother, you are hurt,’ she said, and went to embrace her, only to be restrained by the hand of the Shaman.
‘Careful, child, her wounds are raw.’
‘What have they done to you?’ gasped Heanua.
‘Nothing that won’t heal,’ said Boudicca, with a weak smile. ‘Where is your sister? Is she with you?’
‘She follows,’ said Heanua, ‘but aides Rianna.’
‘Why, what ails Rianna?’
‘She fell to a Roman sword,’ said Heanua, ‘but lives still. I fear she is weakening though for the wound has started bleeding again.’
Boudicca turned her head to the Shaman.
‘Send your people to aid them, quickly.’
The Shaman bowed and left the roundhouse. Boudicca turned to face her daughter once more.
‘And what of you, child?’ she asked. ‘How have you fared?’
Heanua’s face dropped but despite the gloom, Boudicca could sense the change.
‘Heanua, what’s wrong? Tell me what hurts you so?’
‘Nothing,’ said the girl. ‘I am well.’
Boudicca’s eyes narrowed as she examined her daughter’s face.
‘Heanua, you are hiding something from me. I am your mother and demand you tell me.’
‘Nothing,’ shouted Heanua, taking Boudicca by surprise. ‘We are well. Both of us are.’
Boudicca forced herself up onto one elbow and reached out one arm.
‘It’s alright, child,’ she said, ‘come here. I am sorry, I shouldn’t have spoken as I did.’
Heanua paused before walking forward to sit on the side of the bed and lowered her head to rest it on her mother’s shoulder.
‘I am scared, mother,’ said Heanua, ‘what is to become of us?’
‘There is no need to be scared, child,’ said Boudicca. ‘The worst is over and from now on, it is they who will fear.’ Before she could continue, the door flew open and the Shaman burst in.
‘Boudicca,’ she cried, ‘Rianna has collapsed and is in dire need.’
‘What ails her?’ asked Boudicca.
‘My acolytes attend her as we speak,’ said the Shaman, ‘but her body burns with the fierceness of a forest fire. I fear she will die.’
‘No,’ gasped Boudicca, ‘I will not let this happen. Help me up.’
‘You must not move, Queen,’ said the Shaman, ‘your own wounds are too severe.’
‘Get me up,’ said Boudicca again. ‘I will attend my friend or die trying.’
Heanua and the Shaman helped the queen out of the roundhouse and across the clearing to where a small crowd had gathered.
‘Let us through,’ shouted the shaman and the people parted before them.
Boudicca knelt
down beside Rianna and felt the shivering woman’s skin.
‘What causes this fever?’ she asked.
‘She has a sword wound to her side,’ said one of the acolytes. ‘The blade has hit no organs but has closed over the cut. I fear there is infection within that needs cleaning.’
‘And if we leave it?’
‘She will die,’ said the acolyte.
Boudicca turned to the Shaman.
‘Is there a way to clean the infection?’ she asked.
‘Possibly,’ said the Shaman, ‘but she is weak and may not survive the trauma.’
‘Tell me.’
‘If the cavity is unbroken and only the flesh is cut, we can reopen the wound and scrape out the filth. The wound will be packed with the boiled mulch of the willow and will ease the pain but only the gods will have the final say.’
Boudicca turned to face Rianna whose eyes were half closed in pain.
‘Did you hear that, Rianna? We may be able to save your life but there will be much pain.’
‘Do it,’ gasped Rianna.
Boudicca nodded and turned to the Shaman.
‘You heard her,’ she said. ‘Take her to my hut and give her my bed. You will do everything in your power to save this woman. Her life is your life. Do you understand?’
‘I do, great Queen.’
Boudicca turned to face Rianna once more.
‘Be strong, my friend,’ she whispered, brushing her hair to one side. ‘There are things still to do Rianna, retribution to be paid and feats that bards will sing of, but I need you at my side. Do you hear me? Use that strength to fight the poison inside and when you are well, I will be waiting.’
Rianna smiled weakly.
‘Boudicca,’ she whispered, ‘the girls.’
‘What about them?’
‘They have been through a lot and need you.’
‘I am always here for them,’ said Boudicca.
‘No, you don’t understand,’ said Rianna. ‘They need their mother, not their queen.’
Boudicca paused but nodded in silence.
‘I understand,’ she said quietly.
Behind them the Shaman returned.
‘We are ready,’ she said.
Boudicca kissed Rianna on the cheek before struggling up to her feet, allowing them access to the wounded woman. Several pairs of hands carried Rianna away and the crowd dispersed, leaving only Boudicca, Lannosea and Heanua in a loose circle, looking at each other in silence. Finally Boudicca gave a tight-lipped smile and held out her arms and after a moment’s hesitation, Heanua walked forward into her embrace.
‘Lannosea, join us,’ said her mother.
Lannosea walked forward but instead of joining her family, she walked straight past and headed for the huts.
Chapter Five
The Lands of the Silures
It took a few seconds for Prydain’s eyes to adjust to the dim interior of Kegan’s hut. Inside, Kegan and Cara sat at the rough-hewn table opposite a woman who was eating a warm maize porridge. Prydain could only see the back of her from the doorway.
‘Prydain,’ said Kegan. ‘You are here at last. Please meet our guest, her name is Heulwen.’
The woman with the long brown hair stood and turned to greet him.
For a second Prydain was taken aback, for although he hadn’t seen her for almost ten years, her face had hardly changed. In fact her maturity had been generous and if anything, her beauty had been enhanced.
‘Heulwen,’ he said. ‘It has been a long time.’
‘Too long,’ said Heulwen and stepped forward to give him a hug.
‘You too obviously know each other,’ said Kegan.
‘We do,’ said Heulwen, ‘Prydain fished me out of the river at Caer Caradog. If it wasn’t for him, I would have been killed by the Roman cavalry.’
‘A compliment ill deserved,’ said Prydain, ‘As I recall it turned out you were more than able to survive in the wilderness.’
‘The wilderness I can handle,’ said Heulwen, ‘rivers are a different thing.’
Prydain smiled.
‘I understand you have ridden long and hard to be here. It’s not often we see lone female riders so your quest must be important.’
‘Prydain, your manners escape you,’ said Kegan. ‘Our guest has not finished her meal. Please join us and break your fast.’
‘Of course,’ said Prydain, ‘please accept my apologies.’ He sat alongside Heulwen while Cara brought over a bowl of porridge as well as a loaf of freshly baked bread.
‘Please, fill yourselves up,’ said Cara. ‘I would otherwise be offended.’
Both Prydain and Heulwen smiled and broke chunks of bread from the loaf. When they had finished, Cara brought over a steaming jug of weakened honey wine and poured it into four wooden tankards before joining the group at the table.
‘A meal fit for a king, Cara,’ said Heulwen. ‘You have my gratitude.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Cara. ‘All travellers are treated so. It is our way.’
‘Nevertheless, your hospitality is welcome. I have not eaten for two days.’
‘So where have you come from?’ asked Kegan. ‘Are you Deceangli?’
‘My people have no tribe,’ said Heulwen, ‘we are the Asbri.’
‘The Asbri?’ said Kegan, his eyes widening in surprise. ‘A people of the shadows, I hear.’
‘It is true we avoid others wherever possible,’ said Heulwen, ‘but our skills are often sought in the way of healing. Caratacus himself was an acolyte and we served alongside him at Caer Caradog.’
‘It is also said your people are witches,’ said Cara.
‘If you mean that we have direct links to the afterlife and cast curses on our enemies, then I am sorry to disappoint,’ said Heulwen, ‘but if you mean we harness the forces of everything around us to make our lives better, then you are correct and I am proud to be labelled so.’
‘Perhaps it is a term we will only use between these walls,’ said Kegan. ‘Our people are fearful of such things and may not be so accommodating.’
‘I will not be here long enough to cause inconvenience,’ said Heulwen, ‘I come only to seek the aid of Prydain.’
‘In what matter?’ asked Prydain.
‘In the matter of Taliesin,’ she answered. ‘He is missing and I believe he is in danger.’
* * *
Prydain’s face fell at the information but before he could answer, Kegan spoke up.
‘Who is this Taliesin you speak of?’ he asked.
Prydain glanced at Heulwen before turning to face Kegan.
‘Taliesin is the son of Gwydion of the Blaidd,’ said Prydain, ‘a warrior of the Deceangli who was killed at Caer Caradog. As he died, I swore to protect his son but as he grew up, I put him in the care of the Asbri.’
‘Why?’ asked Cara. ‘If you swore to look after him, then why give him away?’
‘Because he would be safer that way,’ said Prydain. ‘Taliesin’s mother was Gwenno, daughter of Erwyn, chieftain of the Blaidd and as such could one day claim the leadership of that great clan. However, the usurper Robbus seduced Erwyn’s wife and snatched the leadership in a day of treachery. Taliesin will one day return to the Blaidd and take back what was rightfully his. It was important that he was brought up in the way of chieftains.’
‘And was he?’ asked Kegan.
‘On the contrary, he was brought up in a humble life,’ said Heulwen. ‘He has turned out to be a wonderful young man and will one day make an excellent king.’
‘Chieftain,’ corrected Prydain.
Heulwen looked at Prydain.
‘I chose my words carefully,’ she said, ‘and stand by what I said. Things have changed, Prydain. The Romans have spent these last few years laying waste to clans across the Deceangli territories and many have died in their defence. There is no true blood Deceangli left to lead the tribe.’
‘But what about Idwal?’ asked Prydain.
‘Idwal died ten days ago,’ said Heu
lwen, ‘struck down by an ague in the Cerrig at Treforum. His army surrendered without a blow dealt and his sons were carted off as slaves to Rome. Without a leader the Deceangli are on their knees and clans fight amongst themselves for position. The Deceangli need a leader, Prydain, and Taliesin is the last true blood in the line of the princes. He needs to pick up the banner and lead if this country is ever going to resist the Roman occupation. That is why I am here. Taliesin is a grounded boy with maturity beyond his years but his passion for this country often outstrips his sensibility. When he heard that the Romans were intent on laying siege to the Cerrig, he left our village without warning, intent on lending his sword arm to Idwal. Obviously, we pursued him, for his safety is more important than just one more blade against the enemy, but the Cerrig fell before we caught up with him.’
‘Was he captured?’ asked Prydain.
‘We don’t know,’ said Heulwen. ‘Many were taken prisoner and lie in chains within the Cerrig. We can only hope he is still alive.’
‘So what do you want from me?’ asked Prydain.
‘Prydain, I know it is a great ask but we need your knowledge to try and help us free him.’
‘What can I do that your own warriors cannot achieve?’
‘We have no warriors,’ said Heulwen, ‘we are a peaceful people and our men are poets or studiers of the stars. If Taliesin is indeed a prisoner, we will need to find a way to free him. Do you remember the few days we spent together fleeing the aftermath of Caer Caradog all those years ago?’
‘I do.’
‘Well you told me then that you were once imprisoned in the Cerrig. You know the layout of the fortress and can help us find him.’
‘Heulwen, I was there for hours only. I’m not even sure if I recall the layout.’
‘No man forgets his prison,’ said Heulwen, ‘no matter how short the sentence.’
‘Even if I do recall the layout, how do you intend to overcome a garrison of Romans? Surely not by force of arms?’
‘With this,’ said Heulwen throwing a bag of coins onto the table. ‘The Romans have a taste for gold so we have melted down the Torcs of our people to form the discs they crave. Every man has his price and if we can bribe a few guards perhaps we can free him.’
The Wrath of Boudicca Page 5