Boudicca, page 48
I pushed off the rock, took a step, and liquid gushed from between my legs, followed by pain that clawed at me and took me to my knees. Panting, I rode the wave and then tried to struggle to my feet, slipped in the bloody wetness that soaked the ground beneath me, and fell hard on my knees, gasping at the jolt.
Another contraction threatened to drown me in pain, and my body bowed as I struggled to breathe. When it released me I was too weak to stand. All I could do was shiver and pant with my face pressed against the wet ground.
A sob escaped my throat. And then another. And another. Before the next contraction pulled me under, I cried a single, beseeching word: “Andraste!”
Pain tunneled my vision. I made a guttural sound, more animal than human, as the contraction tore through my body.
I have to move. I have to get back to the village.
I tried to stand again and made it to my feet in time to hear wings flutter behind me. I turned to see a raven had perched on Andraste’s rock. If I dared I could reach out and stroke its ebony beak as I had the rock moments before. Another contraction engulfed me, and the strength in my legs dissolved. I fell to my knees again. Staring up at the raven, I panted through the pain. When it released me I sobbed my agony to the creature.
“Tell Andraste I’m sorry! I ask that she forgive me. I know I failed her. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” My tears mixed with snot and sweat. I rested my forehead against the rock, glad of its coolness.
“There is nothing to forgive, my Victory.”
With a gasp I looked up. Standing on the rock was the goddess. She wore a woad-blue dress embroidered with silver knots that interlinked to form ravens. Her cloak was made of black feathers that glistened in the rising sun.
“Andraste!” I sobbed. “I’m so sorry. They’re dead. The Iceni. Our people. Because of me. They’re dead.”
“No, child. They are not dead because of you. They are dead because of betrayal and the greed of Rome. Neither was caused by you, my Victory.”
“How can you call me that? I failed you. I wasn’t victorious. I lost. We lost. Britain is ruled by Rome.”
Andraste bent and brushed my sweat-soaked hair back from my face. “Oh, my darling, my Victory, you have not failed me. You planted a seed that will root and grow until it becomes mightier than the tallest sacred oak and spreads farther than even the grasses surrounding our Tasceni. And when finally that seed is harvested, it will sustain a nation, our nation. Britain will throw off the yoke of Rome and become mighty.” The goddess spread wide her arms so that the raven-wing cloak became a veil. “Behold!”
Through Andraste’s cloak, I saw the future. I witnessed how my country, my people, changed but survived and thrived. Generation after generation stretched out before me, so different, and yet their spirit remained—strong and free.
When the vision faded I looked through tears up at Andraste. “But they will have forgotten you.”
The goddess smiled. “No. Every time they stand together, they remember me and embody you, my beloved Victory.” The goddess bent and took my face between her hands. She kissed me as she had on that first day, like a mother, on my forehead, on each cheek, and finally on my lips. Then she said, “To show my love for you, I shall gift you with the same—love.” Then the goddess straightened, raised her arms to the sky, and with a wild cry became a raven that circled me three times before disappearing into the eastern horizon.
I squinted as she seemed to fly into the rising sun, and then my eyes closed as I was engulfed in another tide of pain. When it finally released me, I was dazed. Andraste had left me here, alone, to birth my child. I drew several long breaths, in and out, trying to calm the panic that clawed at me along with the pain I knew would come again and again and again.
My gaze returned to the eastern horizon and I blinked. Wiped my eyes with my cloak and blinked again. Was it Andraste returned?
No.
It was a figure on a horse racing toward me. I realized two things at once. The horse was too large to be a garron, and it seemed familiar.
It could not be. I was delirious with pain, and as I thought it another contraction flooded me, and this time I wanted to push. I had to push.
“No!” I sobbed, fighting against the overwhelming need. “Not here!” I was struggling to stand again when the sound of the horse’s pounding hooves returned my gaze to it.
I did know the horse. I couldn’t, but I did. The big gray stallion slid to a halt just feet from where I slumped against Andraste’s rock as his rider dropped from his back and closed the small space between us—and then I was in her embrace.
“Rhan!” My hands touched her face, her arms, her hands. She was there, and even though she had a pink scar that ran from her cheekbone down to her neck, she was alive and whole.
“My beloved! How are you—”
Another contraction took control of my body. “The babe comes.” I managed to rasp the words before I could do nothing but bear down and pant for breath.
“I’m here. I’m here.” Rhan shifted my body so that my back was pressed against the goddess’s rock for support again. She pulled up the skirts of my dress and knelt between my legs. “I can see the head! The babe’s hair is red like yours! Push, Boudicca!”
I braced myself against the rock, stared down at my best friend, my love, and pushed. In a rush of wet, the babe was born, sliding into Rhan’s hands as if they were what she had been waiting for.
“A girl! Maldwyn was right.” Rhan’s voice trembled with joy. “You and he have a daughter!”
“Arianell.” I spoke her name like a prayer as Rhan placed her on my chest. “Her name is Arianell.”
A shadow fell on us. Rhan glanced up and her face lit with wonder. “Look!”
My gaze lifted. Circling us, ravens darkened the sky, too many to count. As we watched them, Rhan took me and Arianell in her arms and held us close, and through the ravens’ calling voices I heard my goddess speak.
“In blessed Arianell my Victory lives on . . .”
From the Author
I can’t remember when I first heard Boudicca’s story. I suspect it was in my childhood and had something to do with my father. Dad was a voracious reader, and because I always wanted to do everything he did, I too became a voracious reader. He and I shared books from the time I was a preteen, so I’m pretty sure he’s responsible for my knowledge of the Iceni queen as he and I went on several historical reading binges.
I do remember when I decided I wanted to tell the story of the queen of the Iceni. It was in 2007 when I was researching a time-travel romance set in Iron Age Britain. Though Boudicca was a briefly mentioned secondary character in that book, I became obsessed with her.
Fast-forward to 2019, when I began writing the first incarnation of what this book would eventually become. As I researched and worked on the manuscript, I decided that I wanted to be as historically accurate as possible while including culturally appropriate paranormal elements. I had no idea when I began this journey how difficult the “historically accurate” part would prove to be.
The first problem with being historically accurate is the fact that the Iron Age Britons (we call them Celts now, though they called themselves Britons) didn’t have a written language. The Druids used Ogham symbols to communicate, warn, foretell, protect, etc., but the general populace had no written language.
I turned to Roman and Greek historians, who most definitely had a written language and who were fascinated (perhaps obsessed) with Boudicca. But there is a massive problem with their historical accounts. They were so mired in patriarchy and the belief that their societies were superior to the “barbaric Celts” that their accounts are heavily biased and much of their writing borders on salacious and even nonsensical. They seemed almost as fascinated by Boudicca as they were baffled by and frightened of her. A woman leading an army of 250,000-plus warriors? Surely not! Surely she was superhuman, a goddess come to earth, or perhaps a pawn . . .
So I used the Greek and Roman historians’ accounts as a blueprint for the events that were a springboard to Boudicca’s rise as a warrior queen and looked to the archaeological record to fill in cultural details. This, too, was problematic, as women have long been excluded from and/or not taken seriously in archaeology. And by that I don’t just mean women were/are discounted as modern archaeologists. I mean that the male account of archaeological findings has always been slanted toward their point of view, which is male centered and discounts or purposefully misinterprets findings that include women of the ancient world. Again too much of what was written and reported was through the overbearing and often inaccurate lens of the patriarchy.
I hired an excellent research assistant, a brilliant woman who is a published author and whose educational background is in science, and we began wading through the research, determined to remove the lens of patriarchy. Please know that I am not a historian. I am a storyteller. I have done my best to remain as close to historically accurate as possible while fictionalizing a version of Boudicca’s life.
Specific notes about names, languages, Annwn, and the timeline:
Names—I had to depend upon the Roman and Greek historians for the names of tribal chiefs, queens, their children, and their lead warriors. Those records were exasperatingly incomplete. If the Romans didn’t consider them important, they weren’t included in their records/reports. For instance, the queen of the Brigantes tribe was an ally to Rome and unusual because she was another warrior woman, so Queen Cartimandua’s name, along with the names of her husbands, was easy to find. But the name of the chief that led Tribe Trinovantes in 60 CE is not definitively mentioned. Nor is the name of his son or daughter. Nor were the names of Boudicca’s daughters, her advisors, or her high Druid. In naming my characters I decided to choose historically adjacent names. I attempted to stay in the correct century and the correct tribe, but when that failed I chose the names of Iron Age Britons.
Languages—There were three languages spoken during the Roman-invasion era—Latin, Greek, and common Brittonic (which eventually became the accepted language). My research showed that many of the Romans, especially the officers and administrators, already knew Brittonic as it’s similar to the language the Gauls spoke, and they’d just come from invading the Gauls. It makes sense to me that the royal families of the tribes and their lead warriors would have learned Latin during the invasion so they could communicate with the people taxing and enslaving them.
The Otherworld of Annwn—The Iron Age Britons were heavily influenced by Druids. Druids weren’t just spiritual leaders. They were king and queen makers. They interpreted omens. They served as judges, peacemakers, teachers, magicians, and advisors. They were leaders who were revered and who held and passed on the stories and histories of the tribes. They and the tribes believed that there were dimensions of reality that butted up to one another. The mortal realm was called Arbred. The realm of the afterlife, of goddesses and gods, where magick was commonplace, was called Annwn. Both realms were filled with nwyfre, the energy of life. The Iron Age Britons believed that their deities frequently sent them signs and omens from Annwn. They also believed there were openings to the realm of magick through which mortals could slip or be called by their deities. These openings were usually marked by streams or archways made of trees. They also believed the veil between worlds thinned at certain times of the year (Samhain and Beltane in particular) and that ancestors who had died and crossed over to Annwn could go through the veil between worlds and visit their loved ones.
When Boudicca slips into Annwn, she is crossing a magickal bridge to her goddess. Boudicca’s people would have absolutely believed their queen could access the realm of the gods. Think of her journeys to or through Annwn as traveling through an alternative reality where time flows differently and magick is the norm.
Boudicca’s timeline—Historically Boudicca’s four battles took place one right after another. I followed this for the first three battles but added a winter break before the final altercation that decided the war.
I hope you enjoyed my version of Boudicca’s story. My wish is that I have brought alive the ancient Britons, their daily lives, their beliefs, their loves and losses. Above all I hope that you loved getting to know this amazing queen as much as I have.
Wishing you happy reading,
P. C. Cast
Acknowledgments
Thank you to my amazing editor, Rachel Kahan, who got Boudicca (and me!) immediately. Rachel, you are my dream editor!
Thank you, Rebecca Scherer, for cheerleading Boudicca and for believing in me. You’re the best.
Thanks, Dad, for conveniently fostering two wolf cubs and becoming part of their pack so that I could pick your brain for all things wolf.
I want to show my vast appreciation for the entire Morrow team! Thank you for the care and enthusiasm you’ve shown Boudicca.
About the Author
P. C. CAST was born in the Midwest, and, after her tour in the USAF, she taught high school for fifteen years before retiring to write full time. P. C. is a member of the Oklahoma Writers Hall of Fame. Her novels have been awarded the prestigious Oklahoma Book Award, YALSA Quick Pick for Reluctant Readers, Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award, Booksellers’ Best, and many, many more. Ms. Cast is an experienced teacher and talented speaker who lives in Oregon near her fabulous daughter, her adorable pack of dogs, her crazy Maine Coon, and a bunch of horses.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Author’s Note
For help or simply an understanding ear, the National Domestic Violence Hotline is 800-799-7233, and the National Sexual Assault Hotline is 800-656-4673. I also recommend RAINN as a good online resource: rainn.org.
More by P. C. Cast
The House of Night Series
Marked
Betrayed
Chosen
Untamed
Hunted
Tempted
Burned
Awakened
Dragon’s Oath
Destined
Lenobia’s Vow
Hidden
Neferet’s Curse
Revealed
Kalona’s Fall
Redeemed
The Sisters of Salem Series
Sisters of Salem
Omens Bite
The House of Night Other World
Loved
Lost
Forgotten
Found
The Tales of a New World Series
Moon Chosen
Sun Warrior
Wind Rider
The Partholon Series
Divine Beginning
Divine by Mistake
Divine by Choice
Divine by Blood
Elphame’s Choice
Brighid’s Quest
The Goddess Summoning Series
Goddess of the Sea
Goddess of Spring
Goddess of Light
Goddess of the Rose
Goddess of Love
Warrior Rising
The Mysteria Series
Mysteria
Mysteria Lane
Mysteria Nights
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
boudicca. Copyright © 2025 by Cast LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
first edition
Title art courtesy of Shutterstock/ Marek Hlavac
Map courtesy of Alexis Seabrook
Cover design by Elsie Lyons
Cover illustration by Angie Mathot
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
Digital Edition JANUARY 2025 ISBN: 978-0-06-329499-8
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-329497-4
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