Ravens of Avalon (3 page)

“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 punish 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 different 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 Priestess and I have already had the same conversation that you and I are having 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 warrior cannot fight 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—”

“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 your belly, and then, if you like, we can pay a visit to Coventa and you can assure yourself that she is well.”

n the week after Coventa’s near-drowning, a last rainstorm sent waters laughing through the cleared bed of the stream. Then the weather turned warm, as if the spirit of the stream, having been propitiated, had brought the spring. It was not until the night of the new moon that Lhi-annon had a chance to speak with Ardanos.

As they passed through the woods toward the grove he had slowed his usual swift step to match hers. He was barely taller than she, and wiry in build rather than muscular, but he had a natural authority and other men respected him. He was whistling softly. She blushed as she realized it was a song he had written for her—

“My love is a girl with hair like golden flax, With eyes like the summer sky, The reeds bow down in envy at her walk, The swaying willows sigh …”

Seeing her response, he laughed. “And how is our Iceni princess settling in?” he asked.

“Rather too aware that she
is
a princess, I fear,” answered Lhiannon. She lowered her voice as a group of younger priests moved past them, their robes a pale blur in the dusk. “But she is a natural leader. She might make a priestess, if she can learn humility.”

“Ah well, she wouldn’t be the first to have that problem …” Ardanos replied.

He meant Helve. Lhiannon followed his gaze. Long ago this part of the forest had been planted with a triple circle of oaks whose dagged leaves rustled softly in the evening wind. The moon glimmered like a curved river pearl caught in a net of branches. The cloaks of the priestesses made a dark blot beneath the trees. She gave his hand a squeeze of agreement before she crossed the grass to join them.

“Lhiannon, your presence honors us,” said Helve. She was a senior priestess, and almost as talented as she thought she was. Lhiannon could not quite tell if she spoke in mockery. “Were the girls difficult to settle for the night?”

If you had been there,
she thought,
you would not need to ask.

“That new one, the Iceni girl, will bear watching—perhaps I should take her for special training,” Helve went on.

“You are the Mistress of the House of Maidens,” Lhiannon said quietly, but she was thinking,
if you want to teach Boudica, I suggest you begin by learning her name!

She was not sure whether to hope Helve took the girl off her hands or to fear it. Boudica was just as proud as the priestess, and might be even more stubborn. The girl might rebel, or worse still, Helve might encourage her in arrogance rather than teach her humility.

A shimmer of bells sounded from across the circle. Escorted by her handmaidens, the High Priestess was emerging from among the trees. Moving with the pace of ritual, Mearan’s stout figure had a balanced grace. Though all the community worshipped together, the moon rites belonged to the priestesses, as the priests took charge of the solar rituals, and this was the Lady’s hour.

“Behold, O my children, how the Maiden Moon shines above us.” The voice of the High Priestess rang across the circle. “She is early to rise and early to seek her bed—young and full of promise, like the children who have come to study here. From us they will learn our ancient tradition. But what will we learn from them? This evening we ask the Goddess to open our hearts and our minds. For though the wisdom of the old ones endures, the world is ever changing, and the meaning of that wisdom changes as well. It will profit us nothing to stay safe on our island if we grow so apart from the people we are here to serve that they cannot understand our words.”

The circle was silent. In the oak grove, a dove called once, and then was still. Focusing on her link to the earth, Lhiannon tried to let her tensions drain away. The hush deepened as the others did the same, and the circle’s silence became charged with energy.

The High Priestess approached the standing stone in its center. “To you, beloved Lady, we bring these offerings.” One by one her handmaidens laid the spring flowers they carried upon the stone, and Lhian-non and the other priestesses moved inward to surround them.

“Holy Goddess, holy Goddess …” Women’s voices soared, invoking the sacred name in woven harmonies.

“Upon these holy ancient trees Now cast thy lovely silver light; Uncloud thy face that we may see Unveiled, its shining in the night—”

Mearan stood before the altar, hands lifted in adoration. As the song continued, the moonlight seemed to focus around her, as sweetly and gently the Goddess entered in. Her stout figure was growing taller, her face radiant; she shone with power. Forgotten now was the face of wrath the Goddess showed when men called her as Raven of Battle. It was the sweet Lady of the Silver Wheel who had come to them here.

“Holy Goddess, holy Goddess …” the men were chanting, as if the solid earth had found a voice to reply.

“Shine forth upon the fertile earth, Shine bright upon the sounding sea; Send down thy tender light to bless All living things that pray to thee.”

The Goddess turned, hands opening in benediction. In Her deep gaze they found forgiveness, understanding, love.

Lhiannon sighed, releasing the last of her resentment. And as if that had been the offering awaited, she felt her soul filling with white peace.
Ah, Boudica, this is what we have to offer you
—a stray thought came to her.
I hope that one day you will understand …
Then that, too, was gone and there was only the light.

t was not until autumn that Boudica’s turn to serve Lady Mearan came. The High Priestess occupied a large roundhouse at the edge of the Sacred Grove. Each moon two maidens and one of the younger priestesses would join her there.

Boudica told herself there was no reason to be nervous. She had served in the dun of a great king. But kings only wielded physical power. Life among the Druids was not full of signs and wonders, but in the six months since she arrived she had glimpsed enough strangeness to know that the power was there. And yet in daily life the High Priestess seemed little different from any other woman of her years. She slid her arms into the sleeves of her tunica one at time, and got tangled if her attendants had folded the garment wrong. But when the High Priestess was looking at her, Boudica could always feel her gaze.

In the house of the High Priestess, the sweet scent of drying herbs mingled with the smoke of the hearthfire, and there was always a copper kettle of water for tea hanging over the coals. The only sounds were the murmur of women’s voices, the crackle of the fire, and the whisper of falling rain. On one such evening, when the dusk had drawn in early, Boudica found herself alone with the High Priestess while the others fetched food for the evening meal. She tensed as the older woman motioned her to sit nearby.

“So, have you been happy with us here?” Mearan asked.

The girl ventured a quick glance at the priestess. Age had loosened the flesh that covered the strong bones, but the woman’s dark eyes were like a deep pool into which excuses or prevarications would simply disappear.

“I like Lys Deru,” Boudica said abruptly. “But I have no talent for the things you do, and I don’t like being treated like a baby because I can’t do them …”

“To see what must be done and lead others to do it is a gift as well,” said the priestess. “Do not be so certain you know all that you can and cannot do …”

Boudica was trying to find the words to ask what she meant when she heard voices at the door. Mandua shouldered through, followed by Lhiannon and Coventa, all laden with food. They were followed by a gust of stinging rain.

“This looks splendid,” said the High Priestess. “And the water in my kettle is near the boil, so we shall have tea soon.”

“And bannocks?” asked Coventa hopefully.

“As soon as the stone is hot,” answered Boudica, pouring a little fat into the bowl of ground oats. It was pleasant to listen to the rain lashing the trees outside while sitting with friends beside a good fire. She dribbled sour milk into the mixture, working it into a paste, sprinkled oatmeal onto a flat board, and turned the mixture onto it, coating her fingers with more meal before she began to knead. The ruddy light colored the long folds of the robes that hung from the house posts and touched the shapes of less identifiable bags and boxes with magic. Probably, she thought, they
were
magic—herbs and stones and bits of this and that, the things a Druid needed for her spells.

Coventa flicked a drop of tea onto the flat slab of slate they had placed on the coals. As it sizzled, Boudica patted the dough into a circle and swiftly quartered it. A splash of fat upon the stone and it was ready for the bannock. In moments, the warm smell of baking oatcake began to mingle with the other scents in the room.

“Listen to the wind!” said Mandua, shivering.

“It whispers stories of all the places it has been,” Coventa agreed.

“Or shouts them,” corrected Boudica, listening to the framework of branches that supported the conical thatched roof flex as a new gust hit.

Lhiannon smiled. “On such a night I always think of those who braved the storms to reach this island. They say that the first wise folk to dwell on Avalon came there from a great island that was overwhelmed by the sea.”

“But how did the Druids get here?” asked Coventa, scooping the toasted bannocks from the stone into a basket.

“It seems an appropriate night for the story …” Lady Mearan drizzled a little honey on her bannock and took a bite with a satisfied sigh. “Those first Oak priests must have found the ocean frightening when they came here, following the first Celtic warleaders to see this land. Their people had grown great, and their clans spiraled outward in every direction. Some fared north to settle Gallia, and from there they ventured to these isles.”

“The Atrebates are of the Belgic tribes, which were the last to come here, and so are the princes who rule the Iceni lands,” added Lhi-annon. “Though there is older blood in the people they rule.” She turned back to the High Priestess. “Who was the first of our Order to come to Avalon?”

“The first?” Mearan smiled. “There is a tradition that it was not a priest who came first to Avalon, but a priestess, fleeing the destruction of her dun in one of the early wars. Her name was Catuera. The winter storms had been fierce, so that Avalon was indeed an island. In such weather, when the mists lie close upon the marshlands, it is easy to lose your way. Catuera blundered through the mists, soaked and shivering, until she came …” Mearan paused for a sip of tea.