Boudicca, page 25
Because the Romans underestimated us, we had been given half a year to prepare. We had trained and sacrificed and planned. No matter the outcome of the three battles, I knew one truth—Rome would never again underestimate us.
It was a wondrous thing to lead the army. I could feel the determination of my people and their single-minded intent to finally do something. To move against Rome. To refuse their subjugation and the erasure of our way of life. To fight for our freedom.
We retraced the southern route I’d so recently taken with Cadoc and Maldwyn, moving through the familiar forest with surprising ease and swiftness for such a large group. We pushed hard so that we could stop to camp well before sunset. Our warriors would not go into battle exhausted.
That night the camp was subdued. As I made my way from fire to fire, speaking with the warriors and their families, it felt as if the Iceni were being blanketed by Andraste’s cloak—kept calm and warm and safe by our goddess so that we would be ready for what tomorrow would bring.
When I finally returned to my tent, Enfys and Ceri were soundly asleep, nestled between their wolves like they were pups. Rhan and I sat near the fire and I peered into the basket beside her. I instantly recognized the implements within. “Who are you going to tattoo?”
“You, my queen, if you allow it.” Rhan spoke formally and I felt the weight of the importance of her words. “Last night I dreamed that within a great Samhain bonfire the flames formed a mighty oak, a holy holly, and then a magickal yew before the trees shifted into a blazing raven that soared from the fire into the sky. You are that raven, Boudicca. I believe Brigantia and Andraste sent me the dream, commanding me to mark you with Ogham symbols of protection so that you may soar through battle.”
A sizzle of magick bloomed across my skin, lifting the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. I hadn’t been tattooed before. The permanent marking of skin was something sacred. Something that should only be done solemnly, inspired by the gods. I saw that divine inspiration reflected in the seer’s dark eyes.
“Yes. Mark me, Rhan.”
Rhan motioned for me to move even closer to the fire. I sat on the ground beside her and watched as she took from her basket a smooth whittled piece of wood, about the length of my forearm. The end of it had been carved to look like a miniature hoe, like something one of the tiny fae folk would use to tend a garden. The blade edge of the hoe had been worked thin and razor sharp. From the basket Rhan brought out clean cloths and began steeping antiseptic herbs in hot water poured from the cauldron that was always bubbling over the fire. Rhan had a pot of thick yellow salve that she placed on the ground behind me, next to the mug of steeping herbs.
Lastly, she took out a small stone mallet and then uncovered a wooden bowl filled with the blue dye for which the Iceni were so well-known. It wasn’t the same woad dye we used on our clothes—that was too harsh to be carved into our skin—but the tattoo dye had been carefully crafted to perfectly match the color of woad.
I watched Rhan prepare with excited curiosity. I had, of course, seen tribesmen and -women tattooed and I found myself eager for it.
Rhan began by using the steeped herbal mixture to cleanse my chin, cheeks, and neck. Then she disappeared into the tent and returned with a rolled blanket from my bed pallet and put it behind me so that I could lean back comfortably.
“Ready?” she asked.
I nodded, feeling just a flutter of nerves.
“First, I mark you with the symbol of our mighty oak. May it give you strength in battle.”
She began by dipping the blade of the small wooden tool in the dye. She placed the sharp edge under my bottom lip. Using the stone mallet, she began tapping firmly on the whittled wood at the place on the tool where the slender shaft met the hoelike blade. It was uncomfortable but far from unbearable. As Rhan continued to dip the blade into the dye and tap a solid dark blue line horizontally under my lip from one side of my mouth to the other, she sang softly, wordlessly. The power in her song skittered across my skin as she marked me, wiped away the blood that dripped from the wound, and then continued tattooing me.
I stared into the fire as Rhan finished the thick, solid line, and then from the center of it she tattooed two more lines, parallel to one another, down my chin. When she finished she applied the yellow salve.
Next she moved to my cheekbones, beginning with the one under my right eye.
“I mark you with the sign for the magickal holly trees. May it grant you courage in battle.” Again, Rhan started with a solid blue line that stretched from the top of my cheekbone to my jawline. From the center of that completed line she tapped out three parallel lines moving inward, toward my nose and mouth. When she had completed the marks on both cheeks and rubbed soothing salve into them, she asked me to stretch back my neck.
“With the sacred yew I mark you thrice. May it protect you eternally.”
Rhan tapped a line twice as thick as the other two from the top of my throat to my collarbones, ending just above where my torque nestled. Then, slashing horizontally through that line, she created five more bold blue lines, like spears without tips. Gently she spread salve into my final tattoo. The new marks felt hot on my skin. I was glad of their heat. It reminded me of the power imbued in the three trees and their symbols—now within me.
After Rhan finished we shared a cup of mead. We didn’t speak but sat staring into the fire, not needing to fill the night with words. When my eyelids went heavy, Rhan and I went into the tent. She lay beside me on my pallet.
“May I plait your hair tomorrow?” Rhan’s voice startled me awake.
I rubbed my eyes and yawned. “I’m going to wear my hair loose tomorrow.”
“Yes, I agree, but I have bespelled some things and Andraste has sent me items. I would leave your hair free but use slim braids to knot these things of power into your hair. Would you agree to that?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yes. And I would ask that tomorrow you go with Enfys, Ceri, and Briallen to the rear caravans when the time comes,” I said softly.
“I will do so after I invoke the blessing of Andraste and Brigantia.”
“Thank you.” I took her hand. “I almost cannot believe that this time tomorrow Camulodunum will burn. It seems one of the ancient stories Arianell used to tell me at bedtime when I was even younger than Ceri.”
“Your mother is proud of you,” said Rhan.
Surprise jolted through me. “You have spoken with her?”
“She did not speak to me, but she appeared in my dreams each of the nights I fasted and worked on the sigil. Arianell looked young and beautiful. She watched you from a distance and she blazed with pride so fierce it was clear Brigantia stood with her.” Rhan squeezed my hand. “Your mother knows you will avenge her.”
“Lately I have missed her so much,” I admitted.
“It is because she has been close. You feel her presence.”
“Do you think she’ll stay close after Camulodunum?” I asked.
Rhan moved her shoulders. “I think she will always come when you have need of her, but the peace Arianell will feel after you destroy her enemies will allow her to rest easily in Annwn. And remember, one day you will see her again and feast with her at the goddess’s table.”
I gave a little snort. “I look forward to that day, though I hope it will not come too soon.”
Instead of answering, Rhan caressed my hair. Combing her fingers through my long fire-colored strands, she hummed a Trinovantes lullaby that I remembered hearing the women of her tribe sing, causing sleep to pull me into its waiting arms.
Chapter XXVI
I woke before dawn and dressed quickly. The camp was just beginning to stir when I exited the tent to find my Queen’s Guard waiting silently in a half-moon formation. Briallen stood in the center of them, calling the warriors to attention as I emerged.
They watched me with an intensity I’d come to understand from my months of training. They were the spearhead of our attack and I knew their strike would be true. They had exchanged their distinctive Queen’s Guard blue tunics for bland brown. Swords were strapped to their backs, concealed completely by worn travel cloaks. Behind the warriors stood twenty-three of our swiftest horses. Their only tack was the slightest of saddle blankets and slim bridles.
“Remember to blend in with them. Call no attention to yourselves.” I walked along the half circle, meeting the gaze of each warrior. “Wait for the carnyx.”
“Aye, they are ready, my queen,” said Briallen.
“No queen has ever had a better guard,” I said. “You make me proud. May Andraste guide your swords.”
They mounted and, with the ominous sound of pounding hooves, disappeared into the dove-colored dawn.
“I know you wish you were going with them,” I said to the silent warrior at my side.
Briallen shook her head. “There is no honor greater than being entrusted with the lives of my queen’s bairns.”
I rested my hand on her shoulder. “I can fight today with a clear mind knowing they are under your protection.”
“I will keep them safe, my queen.” Briallen’s accent thickened with emotion. She cleared her throat and added, “I’ll be readying the bairns’ horses the now.” She bowed to me and headed to the hobble line behind our tent.
I watched her stride away and from my memory lifted a vision of her that day when she had been sliced up, beaten, and violated by Rome, yet she had clawed her way back to my side, back to my girls. Andraste, be with Briallen. There was a movement in the boughs above me, and a raven croaked and clicked before taking wing into the lightening sky.
* * *
There were no victory shouts as we broke camp and made our way to the Roman road. The army was subdued but expectant, calm and confident. Each Iceni knew his or her role in the coming battle, and each Iceni was ready.
Tribe Trinovantes met us as we reached the Roman road. Addedomaros and his many warriors were in full battle dress and they were an awe-inspiring sight. Their red cloaks waved bloody in the breeze. They’d painted themselves in scarlet and black. Each horse was dressed with white ribbons in their elaborately braided manes and tails—honoring their patron goddess, Epona.
Addedomaros, his son, and Mailcun joined me at the head of our combined armies and we marched toward Camulodunum. We made no attempt at stealth. That would have been foolish. There was no hiding an army that swelled to almost one hundred twenty thousand. I’d sent out scouts to the west, the direction from which the Fourteenth and Twentieth legions would return should Paulinus get word of our attack. Scouts were also sent north, following the Ninth Legion’s path, with orders to return to me if they caught sight of the centuria Decianus had said he would recall to protect Camulodunum. And, of course, our fleetest scouts went before us to return with movement reports.
As we drew closer to the city, we came upon groups of people fleeing Camulodunum. The majority of them wore the colors of the Catuvellauni. We allowed them to pass unmolested, though I saw fear and awe in their furtive gazes as they began to understand the strength of our army.
As dusk approached, we pulled back to halt within the cover of the last tree line before Camulodunum. The Balkerne Gate was visible in the distance, a sacrifice waiting for the knife. Addedomaros and his army, except for their chariots, melted away from us. Half of his army skirted the city to the north and the other half to the south. Tribe Trinovantes would wait within whatever cover they could find until they heard my signal. Then they would rush the city, their infantry and cavalry entering through the four gates we’d chosen because of the shallowness of the ditches that framed them.
While the chariots were brought to the front and made ready, my daughters and I went into Wulffaed’s caravan, where Briallen, Rhan, and Phaedra waited. Enfys and Ceri dressed in short, brightly colored tunics that would allow them to run or ride or fight without the hindrance of skirts. Wulffaed painted them in bold swirls of woad blue while Rhan and Phaedra saw to me.
I dressed in my own short, sleeveless tunic made from cloth Wulffaed had dyed especially for battle. It was a blaze of color. Iceni blue created a strong background to strips of red and yellow, green and purple, that were woven throughout it. Onto my forearms and legs Phaedra strapped thick leather guards. Rhan braided raven feathers into my hair. Around the ends of the thin plaits she added the smallest of the eagle’s bones, so that when I moved they clacked and clattered around my waist. Finally, I placed the new bronze helmet on my head. Trimmed in Tân’s red mane and tail, it seemed to be an extension of my hair. My daughters donned their own helmets and I felt such pride in them that I hugged the girls tightly, whispering to them how fierce and fine they were and how much I loved them. I kept my breathing steady, refusing to allow nerves or fear to taint this moment.
“May Andraste’s strength fill you,” said Wulffaed.
“May the goddess keep you safe,” added Phaedra.
Neither woman wept. Their eyes were bright, but with excitement, not tears.
I led us out of the tent. Maldwyn was there in the chariot. He, too, was painted for war, with Iceni moons and the outline of plunging horses on both of his muscular arms. He wore a bronze helmet decorated with the silver-white mane of the two magnificent stallions that pawed impatiently, eager for battle. There was a second chariot in which Cadoc rode. He was the god of war, Belatucadros, incarnate. From his helmet sprouted stag horns. A woad mask had been painted across his eyes, with bold Ogham marks up and down his thickly muscled arms between the tattooed Iceni crescents and stars that had been permanently marked into his skin years before I’d been born.
Abertha’s chariot was beside his. Her beauty was savage. She wore only a short leather tunic that was dyed woad blue. It and her body were painted in coal-colored Ogham symbols. She’d cut her hair short and its tips were dyed blue and spiked. Her bronze helmet was trimmed the same as the rest of the cavalry, in dyed white horsehair. Around her neck she wore a collar made of raven feathers.
Briallen was also in full battle dress. She sat astride a gelding while she held two more riderless horses. I nodded to her and she saluted me.
“Lead us to the front of the army,” I told Cadoc. “Rhan will ride with you. She carries the sigil until she invokes Andraste, and then Maldwyn and I will take it into battle.”
Cadoc’s grin was a baring of his teeth. “As you ask, so will I do, my queen.”
Rhan joined him in his chariot as my girls squeezed in between Maldwyn and me. Sunne and Mona, whose silver-gray coats had been painted with my daughters’ woad-colored handprints, galloped close to the chariot as Maldwyn clucked to the horses. Briallen and Abertha brought up the rear. We followed Cadoc swiftly through the caravans to the army, which parted for us as if we were sunlight spearing through clouds.
Maldwyn drove our chariot out before the army and then turned to face our tribe. Briallen and Abertha waited at the edge of the army with Cadoc, who halted his chariot so Rhan could step down. She carried the sigil she’d made. It was a magnificent sight. She’d prepared a long oak bough, working it smooth until it shined. It was twice her height, tall and straight. From the top of it hung a large circle made by willow branches. Within that circle was a woad-colored spider’s web of hemp twine that formed the triple Iceni moons. Dangling from leather straps all around the willow circle were the largest of the eagle bones. They clacked in the evening breeze with the dry voices of wraiths. In the very center of the sigil Rhan had woven the skull of the eagle upside down, defeated, dead, useless.
Rhan moved into the space between my chariot and the army. She wore her ovate robe of green and brown, and as she began to dance and chant, her cloak billowed around her. She was beautiful and wild and glorious.
Hu rì o hùo ro—hu rì o hu
Strike, cut, spear thrust straight, straight and true.
E ho hùo hùo
Brigantia’s fire flow.
Hu rì o hùo ro—hu rì o hu gaol i
Andraste’s promised vengeance fulfilled by thee.
Hu rì o hùo ro—hu rì o hu
Strike, cut, spear thrust straight, straight and true.
The army beat out the rhythm of her song on their shields until the earth shook with the force of our rage and I knew that the goddesses could not help but hear it in Annwn.
Rhan spun and leaped, swayed and stomped her bare feet. Her hair flew around her with her cloak. She was a creature that slipped between Annwn and Arbred. When she finally halted before my chariot, the power of nwyfre, the life force that filled our land and our bodies, crackled in the air like lightning.
Rhan handed me the sigil, and as I raised it, the army went silent. Maldwyn knew what to do. He knelt down in the front of the chariot and clucked softly to Ennis and Finley, and they trotted back and forth across the front line of the warriors, necks bowed, straining against their bits. Beside me Enfys and Ceri stood straight and strong. Their hair streamed behind them, mingling with mine like small flames joining a wildfire. Their wolves kept pace with us. I understood why I saw savage glee in the eyes of my people. We were Iceni and we were magnificent.
I drew a deep breath and spoke to my people.
“Iceni! Today we do not fight as Romans do for land or spoils or riches. We fight for life. We fight for freedom. We fight for the right to live in our land unmolested by those who do not belong here, who do not know our gods, who violate children as they call us barbarians. If fighting for my children makes me a barbarian—if refusing to submit to Rome makes me a barbarian—if honoring Andraste makes me a barbarian—then I say I am a barbarian!”
The army and my daughters roared, “Aye!”
Maldwyn wheeled the chariot around to face the center of the army. I raised the sigil high and lifted my other hand in a fist to the sky as, in a voice amplified by Andraste, I repeated the curse the goddess had promised to fulfill.
