Ravens of Avalon (33 page)

For now,
thought Lhiannon, but she did not say so aloud.

“My kin among the Brigante clans are not happy with Cartiman-dua’s friendship with the Romans,” Cunitor said. “Perhaps I can persuade them that now is the time to make their feelings known …”

“Caratac needs to know that we are behind him,” said Lugovalos.

“I will go to him,” said Ardanos. “I have worked with him before.”

“You are still recovering from your wounds, and you have a family,” Helve said firmly. “You are needed here.”

I can see where this is going,
thought Lhiannon.
No doubt she and Lugovalos decided on this course before the rest of us arrived.
But she had no desire to resist their manipulation. She had endured the constriction of winter, but she did not think she could bear to be in the same place as Ardanos when all the world rejoiced at the coming of spring.

“Send me—” She smiled blandly at Helve. “Caratac saved me from death or worse. I owe him what help I can give.”

“I will go with her,” came another voice. She looked up in surprise as she recognized Brangenos, a shade more gray and thin, but otherwise unchanged. “A wandering bard passes everywhere, and I have training as a healer as well.”

Lhiannon frowned. She remembered how he had sung for King Togodumnos before the battle on the Tamesa. And she had heard of him among the Durotriges when Vespasian was laying waste to their lands. A bird of ill omen was this raven son.
What disasters do you expect to celebrate when we are with Caratac, bard?

“That is settled, then. And we will ask among the younger priests to carry word elsewhere …” rumbled Lugovalos.

As the others rose to take their leave, Helve beckoned to Lhiannon.

“We have never been friends,” said the High Priestess when they were alone. “But believe me when I say that I am not sending you on this mission to get rid of you.”

No?
wondered Lhiannon.
I thought it might be because I threaten your influence on Coventa.
She continued to smile.

“Whatever rivalry divided us in the past, we must work together now,” Helve went on. “You have great abilities, and the Goddess knows how badly we need every man and woman of power! I have no choice but to employ whatever tools I have, regardless of the cost. Neither you nor I matter, nor Ardanos, nor Coventa, nor Lugovalos, if by sacrifice we can save our tradition.”

Lhiannon opened her awareness a little and was surprised to sense only sincerity. Helve believed what she was saying, and it might even be true. Perhaps she was growing into her job.

“I understand.” For the first time she accorded the High Priestess a respectful nod.

“Stay safe, Lhiannon, and come back to us when your task is done.”

oudica dreamed that she was walking on a narrow path through thickly forested hills, surrounded by men who carried swords. Their clothing was grimed with mud and blood, a fanatical glint lit their eyes. Before her marched Lhiannon, as dirty as any of the others, but looking fit and hard.

In the valley below lay a farmstead. Silently the warriors surrounded it. She glimpsed Caratac among them. As someone lit a torch his golden torque gleamed. They leaped to the attack, shrilling Silure war cries. Men ran out of the houses. Women screamed as the thatch caught fire. Soon there was more blood, and bodies lying on the ground. And then the attackers were retreating, some carrying livestock or sacks of grain. As they went by, Lhiannon turned and seemed to see Boudica at last.

“So shall we serve all who bend the knee to Rome …”

oudica realized she had been weeping when she opened her eyes and saw her husband’s worried frown. It must be morning. The door of their house at Teutodunon was open, and sunlight was filtering through the red-and-yellow striped curtains that surrounded the bed place.

“You cried out—are you in pain?”

“A nightmare,” she mumbled, wiping her eyes. “It’s already going,” she lied, for she knew that she would remember this dream. Her youngest brother Braci and Caratac’s brother Epilios had joined the rebellion the year before. But in the dream the Britons seemed to be winning. If Lhiannon had been here she would have asked her for an interpretation. Had the priestess sent the dream, and if so was it a reproof or a warning?

“Come here and kiss the nightmare away,” She pulled him back down, fitting her body against his in the way that had become accustomed in the two years since she had truly been his queen. He chuckled and nuzzled her neck, one hand sliding across her breast. She could feel his content, and his desire. Why had it taken her so long to realize that Prasutagos was most eloquent when he was silent?

“Mama, Papa! Bogle’s got a hare!”

Prasutagos rolled away as the curtains were jerked back and a redheaded blur bounced onto the bed between them. Boudica blinked and reached out in an attempt to hold her daughter still.

“He caught it out on the heath an’ brought it home. The puppies are fighting over it now!”

Boudica exchanged an exasperated look with her husband, who laughed and eased out of the bed, feeling around for the tunic he had stripped off so unceremoniously the night before. What did it mean, she wondered, when your clan totem was hunted down by your dog? It was bound to happen, she supposed, if they allowed Bogle and his numerous offspring to range the heathlands while they were in residence at her father’s old dun.

“Rigana! Rigana—is the child there with you?”

Prasutagos hastily pulled his tunic the rest of the way down as Boudica’s mother hurried in.

“I’m so sorry, dears, did she wake you?” her mother said. “She runs so fast, you know.”

“Yes. It’s all right, Mama,” said Boudica. “I was getting up anyway.”

“I thought you might be,” said the older woman. “The smith is here already with the new coins for the king to approve.” Since Boudica’s father died, Anaveistl had coped fairly well, but sometimes she forgot that she was no longer the queen.

Boudica hugged Rigana, delighting in the firm limbs and the flower scent of her hair. “Is your little sister awake, sprout?” The two girls slept with their grandmother and their nurses in the next roundhouse, close enough so that Boudica could hear if someone cried.

As if the question had been a signal, Nessa came through the door leading Argantilla, who had just begun to toddle, by the hand. Smiling like a sunrise, the smaller girl, as golden and gentle as her sister was fiery and active, clambered into the bed to join Rigana for a morning snuggle before their parents were distracted by the demands of the day.

Breakfast beneath the spreading branches of the oak tree was a time to receive reports and plan the day. This morning they had silver coins with their porridge—the first of the new issue bearing a Roman-style image of the ruler on one side, and the legend
“Subri Esvprasto Esico Fecit,”
with the horse totem of the Iceni, on the other. Esico might have minted them for Prasutagos, but far too many of those coins would have to go to the Romans in taxes. Others might be paid to chieftains who had collected produce from their clans to feed the Romans’ never-ending need for supplies.

Esico the coiner, a little dark man with missing teeth and an air of confidence that came from knowing his skills would be needed whoever was in power, also traded in information. His first offering was the news that the governor, finding his resources overstretched, was moving the Twentieth Legion from Camulodunum to a place near the head of the Sabrina estuary where they could keep an eye on the Silures.

“They are withdrawing all their forces from the Trinovante lands?” asked Prasutagos.

“Not exacthly,” lisped Esico. “They mean to turn the fort into a Roman-type town and fill it with old tholdierth. ‘Victory colony,’ they call it.” He spat out the words. “Already they levy men to help with the building—an’ with harvetht coming on—” He shook his head. “The Trinovante ain’t happy, but what can they do?”

What can any of us do,
thought Boudica,
but carry on?

“Romans set great store on impressive buildings …” Prasutagos said slowly as Esico departed. “They consider them a mark of civilization.” Boudica eyed him suspiciously, recognizing the enthusiastic gleam in his eye.

“The Romans will never allow us to build fortifications. Just what,” she added carefully, “did you have in mind?”

“Nothing in stone …” he said quickly. “Nothing they’d consider a threat. But I was remembering the way the Romans put a second story on their houses, and I think we could build a roundhouse that way, with two tiers.” Boudica blinked. She could not imagine what he was talking about, but it was obvious that Prasutagos could see it clearly. “We’ll clear out some of the buildings in the enclosure—move the weaving sheds into an adjacent yard and give the mint its own wall. Make a nice neat bank and ditch around the house here.”

“Do you mean to challenge King Cogidubnos?” She laughed. “At Noviomagus he’s building a Roman palace.”

He shook his head. “This will be purely Celtic, just … bigger.” He grinned.

Boudica sighed. The rise on which Teutodunon lay was high enough to give her a good view of the river, with the heathland golden in the morning sun beyond. The peace of the scene made the violence of her night visions seem even more unreal—or was this the dream? As she sighed, Bogle lifted his great head from one of her feet to lay it upon the other. She wiggled her toes to restore circulation. The dog, having made his contribution to the community’s food supply, clearly felt entitled to a rest.

In another moment, however, Bogle raised his head again, ears pricking, then heaved himself out from under the table and took a few steps toward the gate.

“Are we expecting guests?” inquired Prasutagos. The dog had shown an uncanny ability to distinguish between approaching strangers and the folk who belonged here.

“They are friends, apparently,” observed Boudica as the plumed tail began to gently wave.

In a few minutes one of the warriors on guard came trotting through the gate to report three women and a man riding up the road.

“They don’t sound too dangerous,” said Prasutagos, stroking his mustache to hide a smile. “Why don’t you go welcome them in?”

Curiosity gave way to wonder as the three women appeared in the gateway. Boudica had hoped to see Lhiannon, but the curly yellow head of the first figure was nearly as welcome.

“Coventa!” she paused as she recognized Belina and Helve, of all people, behind her, and slowed her progress to something more befitting a queen.

“My lady!” Her nod was carefully calculated to imply equality. “You honor us!” As she gave orders for food and drink she eyed them covertly, seeing Coventa grown tall, and Helve a little more matronly. The High Priestess was still beautiful, but she had some lines in her face that had not been there before.
And that’s no wonder,
Boudica thought silently,
the past few years have not been easy on anyone.
She smiled again as their escort proved to be Rianor. Like the others he wore ordinary clothes.

“You’ll be wondering what we’re doing here,” said Belina as they sat down to a plate of bannocks and a flagon of Roman wine. “With the Romans busy building new forts near the Sabrina, the roads seemed safe enough for Coventa’s womanhood ceremony at Avalon.”

Boudica nodded, remembering her initiation at Lhiannon’s hands. She wondered if Helve could bring through the same magic, but then Coventa had enough magic herself for two.

“And now we are going to visit her kinfolk in the Brigante lands before she takes her vows,” said Helve. “It has been an interesting journey.”

And you have been picking up information everywhere you passed,
Boudica observed. It would appear that the kind of thinking required to be a high priestess was not so different from that of a queen.

“I told them it didn’t matter,” said Coventa. “No one has proposed a great marriage for me, and I would refuse it if they tried—though your little girls are sweet enough to make me think again about motherhood!”

Boudica smiled. “Sweet” was not a term she would have used for Rigana, but the two children had been on their best behavior to meet the priestesses, and she could see how they might be deceived.

“We plan to save some travel time by taking a ship from the north coast of your lands,” Helve put in. “We will be staying with Queen Cartimandua in Briga for a while before heading home. I thought that if your husband permits it, you might wish to go with us.”

“Oh please do, Boudica!” begged Coventa. “We can only stay here one night, and that is not nearly time enough for all I have to tell you!”

“I don’t know,” Boudica said uncertainly. The baby was weaned, and the girls surely did not lack for protectors, but she had not slept apart from Prasutagos for more than a night since he became High King, except when she gave birth to Argantilla, and for a week when he had a fever. Without him in the bed beside her she did not sleep well.

n the end it was Prasutagos who counseled her to go, although she could see that he liked the prospect of separation no more than she. But they had not spoken with Cartimandua for some time, and since the western Brigantes had rebelled the year before it had become important to know where she and her husband stood with regard to Rome.