Ravens of Avalon (50 page)

“Those images were in the minds of the men who raped you,” said Belina. “Let them go.”

“They couldn’t be—” Coventa shook her head. “The men I saw were of our people, and Boudica was with them, waving a bloody sword.”

“Desire shapes her dreams,” murmured Belina. “Boudica protected her when they were young, so she summons her image again.”

Lhiannon was not so sure, but she could do nothing for Boudica, and there were those who needed her help desperately here and now.

“It was Boudica, but it was not—” Coventa babbled on. “I saw the shape of a great raven rising up behind her, with blood on its beak and claws …”

he Lady of Ravens stalked through the ruins of Colonia, directing the storage of looted supplies, the distribution of captured arms, the assignment of camping space to the men who continued to arrive. Queen, icon, no one questioned Her right to lead them, though Boudica’s household had begun suggesting She take time to eat and sleep as the night passed and the next day drew on.

It was nearly sunset when Brangenos came to Her, Rianor at his side. Behind them, Rigana and Argantilla watched warily.

“My Lady, how is it with You?” the elder Druid said carefully.

It was clear that he knew Whom he was speaking to. Why did he not say what he meant?

“I
am very well—how could I be otherwise, after such a feast?” She laughed. “Or did you mean to ask after My horse?”

Some of the others looked at them in confusion, as the queen had been on foot all day, but Brangenos answered.

“Yes, my Lady, as You know full well, and You are too good a horsewoman to ride a willing mount to exhaustion.”

“I suppose that is true.” She sent awareness inward, noting sore feet and an aching back. They had kept Her supplied with beer, but what the ravens ate put nothing in Boudica’s belly. A glance around the camp showed things in as good an order as it was possible for these people to achieve. She could see that in another moment he was going to pass from request to command, and with the body so tired, She might not be able to retain control.

“Would you like Me to leave her now?” She grinned.

“Please, Lady, come back to your tent—” Brangenos cast a wary glance at the interested faces around him.

Perhaps he had a point. Amusing as it might be to drop Her mount right here, it was probably best to let the Britons believe that it was Boudica who was leading them.

“Mother—we need you, too,” Argantilla said then, and at the sound of that voice, Boudica began to wake within.

“Yes … it is time …” The goddess leaned on the older Druid and allowed the younger to take her other arm, withdrawing a little more with each step, so that by the time they reached Boudica’s camp, the Druids were supporting her.

“Is this what you desired?” She laughed softly. Then Her eyes closed and She was gone.

hen they had gotten Coventa back to the shelter of the Council Hall and she was sleeping peacefully, they left Belina to watch her and went out again to look for Helve. They found the High Priestess at the Sacred Grove.

The outer ring of trees had burned, but in the center the trunks of the great oaks were only scorched and their leaves baked brown. Helve sat with her back against the altar stone, a Roman javelin lodged in her side. She still wore the torque and armrings of her office. Dark blood soaked the blue robes.

“They were afraid to touch her,” Bendeigid said softly. “She made her stand here, and I’ll warrant she cursed them. That’s why her body was not defiled.”

He stepped back, fingers flickering in a sign of warding as the dark draperies stirred. But Lhiannon stiffened, pointing—

“Look—that blood is still red—she is alive!”

Bendeigid went to her side, calling her name, but there was no response.

Ardanos straightened, with an effort putting on the authority of the Arch-Druid once more. He knelt at Helve’s side.

“Helve—I call you. From the place where your spirit wanders I call you back. Open your eyes, my lady, and answer me …”

A quiver ran through the still form as the priestess opened her eyes. New blood welled from the wound. Slowly her gaze fixed on Ardanos.

“My lord …” It was only a breath of sound, but she winced as if even that much movement caused her pain. “Knew you … would come.”

Even now, thought Lhiannon, Helve’s voice held not gratitude but pride.

“Helve, you are wounded. We must remove this blade.”

The priestess raised one eyebrow. “Dying,” she corrected. “Let me … speak, then … pull the spear.” She fell silent, breathing carefully. “I gave Nodona the kiss of blessing … she shall be High Priestess …” she plucked at the torque, “until Lhiannon comes back … from Eriu.” She drew a shuddering breath and her eyes closed.

“Helve, I am here!” Lhiannon took the woman’s cold hand.

“She thinks I hate … her,” the pale lips twisted. “She was too … good. I was afraid.”

“No—I understood,” Lhiannon said, trying to stop herself from babbling. “You did well.”

This was wrong. A high priestess should pass with all her women around her. Save for Belina, not one of them was in any condition to come to the Sacred Grove, even Nodona, who was still hysterical, though aside from rape her body seemed to have taken little harm.

“I saved … the sacred stone …”

Did Helve even realize that Lhiannon was there? Behind them Ben-deigid had begun to murmur the chant that eased the passage of an adept to the Otherworld.

Helve’s eyes opened, and with an effort she focused on Ardanos. “My lord … I am ready. Pull … out the damned … spear!”

Ardanos was shivering, but when he sang his voice was firm. “You are not this pain … you are not this body … From all oaths that bound you, be free. You are Light, you are Joy that cannot die. Rise, holy one, on the wings of the morning. Speed westward until you come to the Isles of the Blessed. There you shall rest until it is time to take a body once more. It is the Arch-Druid of Britannia who releases you. Be at peace, Helve. You have leave to go …”

Helve’s eyes were closed. Ardanos’s face had gone white, but his hand was steady as he grasped the shaft of the javelin just behind the head and slowly eased it from the wound. A gush of bright blood followed. Helve’s body jerked, struggling, then went slack. For a moment Lhiannon seemed to see a mist of brightness above the still form, but perhaps it was a haze of sunlight passing through the trees. Then it was gone.

“I should be lying beside her,” Ardanos breathed. “What use was all our wisdom and our magic? Lys Deru is gone. We failed.” And then, at last, he began to weep.

f Colonia, only rubble and a few wisps of smoke remained where some stubborn flame still burned. Most of the inhabitants were ashes, but a few had been nailed to the charred beams of their houses as a warning, and at the little fort, heads now adorned the gateposts. For four days the Britons had been celebrating their victory, as drunk on the Roman blood they had spilled as they were on Roman wine.

Boudica sat before her tent in a Roman curule chair set with ivory and gold, listening to the chieftains who lounged on a variety of seats around her fire. It was a surprisingly comfortable chair—a good thing, considering how many of her muscles were still sore.

“The City of Victory, they called it!” exclaimed Segovax. “It’s the City of Victims now!”

“This is the oldest Roman settlement in Britannia,” said King Co-rio. “Well, it
was
…” he said, grinning. The Dobunni lord had arrived while she was sleeping, along with several chieftains from the Catuvel-launi lands. “The others won’t stand a chance!”

“If all the people rise in rebellion,” said Boudica, “no conqueror can hold a land. But
all
of us must attack the Romans—and we must take the forts as well as the towns.”

When Boudica had awakened after a night and part of the following day, she had found half a dozen chieftains from the Cantiaci and Catu-vellauni waiting. They listened with a respect that surprised her. Whatever the goddess had been doing during the day after the Temple of Claudius had burned had apparently done her reputation no harm.

She signaled to Rigana to carry the wine pitcher around, suppressing an impulse to ask for beer instead. Her head still had that feeling of having been swept clean, like the shore after high tide—the pressure she had felt from the goddess was almost gone, but Boudica had the feeling that certain things, like beer, or blood, would bring Her back again. That day of absence had frightened her daughters. She must not give in to the temptation to lose herself in the goddess without need. At least Cathubodva seemed to have left some of Her wisdom behind.

“We have enough war arrows to send to all the tribes, and these have been reddened in Roman blood. We need four more hosts the size of this one to pin down the legions, to convince the Romans that Britannia is a pit into which they may cast their gold and their men for a century and still it will not be filled.”

“An offering pit,” murmured Brangenos, “a gift for the gods …”

At the words, Boudica felt a flutter of raven wings within.
She is still hungry …
At the thought, the scent of carrion grew stronger, carried on the wind.

hen the wind blew through the Sacred Grove one could smell the burning, though four days had now passed, but the scent of burned wood was clean compared to the reek that still hung over what had been Lys Deru. Of the Druids who had remained at the sanctuary, barely half had suvived to chant the funeral hymn while the others burned. Of those, some might recover in body, thought Lhiannon as she watched Coventa gaze vaguely at the play of the light in the leaves; she was less sure about their minds.

“Lys Deru is no more,” said Ardanos. “The magic is departed.” He had made sure of it, ordering them to pull down the remains of the buildings to fuel the funeral pyre. “We will leave nothing for the Romans to triumph over when they return, as they surely will …”

He blinked twice, a facial twitch that had appeared the day after the attack. Despite the energy with which Ardanos had supervised the demolition and funeral, Lhiannon wondered if he ought to be counted among the wounded as well.

“And where do you wish us to go?” she asked gently. She looked around the circle. The day after the Romans departed, some of their neighbors had appeared bringing supplies, so at least they were clothed and fed, though it was strange to see Druids in the natural colors of wool and flax instead of white and dark blue.

“For a time we must disperse. We come from many tribes—we must seek those of our Order who remain in the clanholds to arrange for shelter in remote farmsteads where those who are injured can heal.”

And our priestesses can wait to learn if the seed the Romans planted will take root in their wombs,
Lhiannon thought grimly. Belina was already talking of raising any sons to take vengeance, and of all the raped women she was the closest to sane.
We are all broken in one way or another … it remains to be seen if we will be able to mend.

One by one the survivors began to speak of places they might find refuge.

“I have no family left in the Cornovii lands,” said Lhiannon when it came to her turn, “but there are those in the Summer Country who will shelter me. I will take Coventa and go to Avalon.”

“And we may be able to return here one day,” said Belina. “One of the fisherfolk heard talk among the soldiers as they moved out. There is a rebellion in the east—in the Iceni and Trinovante lands. That is why the legion left so suddenly. Maybe this is the revolt for which we have waited, when all the tribes of Britannia will rise as one.”

Lhiannon stiffened, understanding flooding her. Boudica was caught up in this somehow. She twitched with sudden exasperation at all these wounded people. Ardanos was right—Lys Deru was gone, and with it the Druid power. Perhaps she belonged now with those who had not yet given up the fight …

“Is it possible that our sacrifice bought time for a rebellion to begin?” asked old Brigomaglos. “To believe that it achieved
something
would ease my soul.”

“I will not deny the possibility of a miracle,” Ardanos said in a dry voice. “But we dare not assume that this will be the time our people achieve a unity they were never able to manage before.” He shook his head. “No—we will go into hiding, and we will do whatever we must to survive. Let the Romans think us broken until we can find a way to live with them in safety.”

“Will we cease to be Druids?” asked Belina. “Our High Priestess is dead.” Her gaze moved to the bloodstain that still marked the sacred stone.

“She said that Nodona should succeed her,” said Brigomaglos.

“But will she be able to serve?” Belina asked.

Lhiannon kept silent. Too many here knew of the tension between her and Helve. Anything she said would be suspect now. And she could not forget how like manacles the golden rings had seemed as they weighted Helve’s arms. She had dreamed of being High Priestess for so many years, and never realized how much she liked being free.

“Until we have a place in which to perform the ceremonies once more, does it matter?” Brigomaglos asked. “By the time we do, the girl will have recovered. If she survives the ordeal and is able to bear the power of the Goddess, then Helve’s will may be done. If not—we shall choose again.”