The Warrior and the Druidess (21 page)

Brude lowered his gaze from his father’s hawk-like eyes. Calach began to make sense to him. He felt fired and ready to fight in a huge battle, to destroy all of Agricola’s legions at one time. He struggled with those thoughts, for he knew Tanwen deemed otherwise. She had an infuriating habit of being right. Most druids did. It was another reason he hadn’t wanted to marry one. Though he chuckled as thoughts of the heat of her skin, the softness of her willing flesh, the earthy flora and fauna scent of her, her long red hair and the things she could do in bed reminded him that he’d made a good decision to wed a druidess, after all.

Brude’s lips parted in a half smile. “Well as you dream of this glorious battle, I must go speak to my druid wife and explain why her wise counsel has been disregarded by her chief.” His mind spun.
How will I ever convince her? What will I say? Boudicius. She will do what is best for our son. If we do not fight a pitch battle to free the land of the Romans, Boudicius may come to live in subjection to them. Tanwen will not like that. It will give her cause to change her mind.

“It is a good job for a man who will be chief one day. A good test. And better you than me.” Calach chuckled.

* * * * *

Tanwen sat on the pallet in her wheelhouse gazing at the sweet face of her son, who was hungrily suckling at her breast. Glancing up, she saw Ciniatha at the doorway.

“Greetings. You have come in time to see your grandson feed.”

Ciniatha entered and flashed a warm smile at her grandson and Tanwen . “He is such a good baby.”

“Yes, but he’s got a vicious war cry for a babe and he uses it all the time,” Huctia said as she swept a straw broom across the packed dirt floor.

Tanwen’s nipple dropped out of the child’s mouth, and he didn’t seem to want any more at that moment. “Would you like to hold him?” Tanwen picked up the dry cloth lying in her lap and wiped a dab of drool off the baby’s chin.

Ciniatha walked over to Tanwen. “I have come to see if you’d like me to care for him while you finish any tasks you have today.” She held out her arms and Tanwen handed the baby to her. “Brude is speaking with his father, and I left them to their discussion.” She cradled her grandson against her chest, gently swaying to and fro in a slight rocking motion.

“Did you?” Tanwen nibbled her lower lip. “Huctia, you and I do need to gather some herbs.”

“Yes, I think a walk in the woods would do you good.” Huctia grabbed two baskets and handed one to Tanwen.

Tanwen swung her legs over the bed and stood. She fluttered a soft kiss on Boudicius’ forehead and bid farewell to Ciniatha.

With Huctia at her side, she strolled into the woods, swinging the wicker basket in her hand. Bending down, she plucked all the fat hen plants she came across out of the ground. She glanced at Huctia and saw she also had filled her basket with fat hen leaves.

“This will help. With the harvest destroyed, the succulent leaves will keep the tribe from going hungry,” Tanwen said.

“We need more than plants.”

“The cattle are healthy. We will make do.” Tanwen shrugged. “I’m more worried about what Brude and Calach are speaking about.”

“What do you think they are talking about?” Huctia asked as she plucked another fat hen leaf from its stalk.

Tanwen set her filled basket down on the grass. She crossed her arms. “What everyone speaks of— they want to fight a pitched battle.”

“Mayhaps they are right,” Huctia said softly.

Tanwen pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. “I cannot talk them out of it.” She paced back and forth. “It will take place, right or wrong. I need to call upon the gods and do what I can.” Her throat tightened. “I do not want my son to lose his father.” She clasped her hand over her mouth, smothering a sob. Tears formed in her eyes, and Huctia reached out, hugging her. Tanwen let her wall down and sobbed freely on her friend’s shoulder.

She raised her head off Huctia’s shoulder and wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hands. With her tears gone, she took a deep breath and gathered her strength. Sulwen’s words came to her with so much clarity, it seemed more than a memory, almost as if she was speaking to her right now.

“We should have never let the women and children come. We were trapped by the family wagons. They were all slaughtered. The women, children, and elderly must be protected, always, just in case the battle fails. Rome cannot annihilate any tribe if the children are hidden and kept safe. The women, children and the elderly can carry the tales of the tribe, which are a sacred treasure.”

“Trapped,” Tanwen said under her breath.

“What are you speaking of, Bright One? Have you scried something?” Huctia’s eyes widened, and her lashes flew up. She held her breath, waiting for Tanwen to voice some profound revelation that only druids seem to be capable of.

“The gods have answered, my dear friend, I
ken
what we must do.” Her body vibrated with a sense of confidence and certainty. She basked in this new knowledge.

At that moment, she spotted a tall, muscular man heading for her. She ran up to him, leaving her basket of fat hen leaves on the ground. “Brude.” She grasped and held him by the hard bicep of his arm. “I must speak to you. I ken what we must do.”

“I came here to speak to you.” A grimace fleeted across his lips. “I have just come from Calach. It is not good news.”

“I am sure it is what I expected.” She turned her head toward Huctia. “Get my basket and bring it back with you to the wheelhouse. I need to go now.” She leaned her head back to gaze into Brude’s eyes. He blinked in bafflement. She let out a soft chortle. “All will be well. Let me tell you.” She let go of his upper arm and took his hand. “Come.” She dragged him out of the woods, past the homes and various Caledonii tribesmen who greeted them as they passed by until they entered their wheelhouse.

They both smiled and nodded at Ciniatha, who sat on a stool with the baby in her arms. She was telling him a story of heroes of old. Tanwen plopped down on a soft pelt before the central fire. Brude sat down at her side. Both crossed their legs in a comfortable position.

“What is it?” Brude asked.

“Sulwen often told me of what happened at the final battle. When Boudica called retreat, she found that she and her army were trapped. She had not foreseen that the family wagons of women, children and the elderly who came to watch the victory she expected over Rome, would block the only way out.”

“Yes. I know of this.”

She shook her head. “They were wrong. The women and children shouldn’t have been near the battlefield.”

“Are you saying the women and children should stay in the village while the men go to a great battle?” His brown eyes narrowed. “It may be hard to persuade them.”

“No.” Her hands flung up, palms facing him. “They should not stay in the village—not this village,” she said each word slowly with emphasize. “We must find a new village, a hidden place, secret from the Romans, where they will not look for them. If the battle goes awry, at least the women and children will not be massacred. The warriors will also have a place to retreat to where the Romans will not find them.” As she saw his brow crinkle in confusion she added, “The gods have spoken.” Sulwen had often told her the gods carry much more power than a lone druidess when it comes to a chief’s pride at war skills.

His eyes grew brighter as he pondered her words. “Go to one of the lesser villages of the tribe further north, one that the Romans don’t know of.” Gradually, the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile.

“Yes.” She bobbed her head excitedly. “The Romans will see us as deserting the village and will think we are scared, or that we are no threat.” A giggle slipped from her lips. “They will not know we have relocated with the warriors who survived the battle and all the women and children intact to fight another day.”

A broad smile spread across Brude’s face. “It is a good plan. If we lose the battle, which everyone think we will win, it means you and,” he shifted his gaze to Ciniatha cradling the now sleeping Boudicius in her arms, “the baby and my mother will be safe no matter what may come.” His gaze fell on Tanwen once more. “We need to do this. I will tell Calach right away. We will send forth men to ready the village to move the women and children just before the grand battle.”

As Tanwen rose, so did Brude. She took a pitcher down from the cupboard and poured them a full cup of mead. Sulwen had explained that a druidess cannot control what a chief will do, but the gods will still help her do what is right for the people. And so it was. She had done her part. The noble Caledonii would not be annihilated like her grandmother’s or her mother’s tribes. It was good. Tanwen lifted her cup toward Brude and raised it high. “To the gods.” Swiftly, she drink the heady, honeyed drink.

Ciniatha stepped up to them with Boudicius in her arms. “Tanwen, I applaud your plan. I want to go with you two when you to speak with Calach.”

“So be it.” Brude grinned. “Let us go.” He wrapped his arm around Tanwen’s shoulder as they walked with his mother and son to the chief’s house, where they would discuss the plan with his father.

* * * * *

Several days later, Lossio and Ciniatha, who was clutching the bawling Boudicius, waved at Tanwen from the last family wagon to roll out of the Caledonii village.

Brude had just spotted Tanwen standing in the road, waving at the baby. He ran up to her, yelling, “Tanwen, why are you not in that wagon?” He waved his arms. “Go with them.”

She glanced down the road. The family wagon was now out of sight. “It is gone now. Husband, you knew I would not leave you or the tribe.”

He let out a loud sigh of vexation. “Tanwen, this is wrong. I told you to take Boudicius to the hidden village with the other women and children.”

“He is safe in the care of your mother and Lossio.” She tossed her head back and placed her hands on her hips. “Yes, I have been told often enough of the plan, but the gods spoke to me. They want me here.”

“Why do the gods never agree with me but always with you?”

“For I am the druid.  And do not question the gods.” She shook her finger at him. “It bodes ill, especially before battle.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have married a druidess.” His lips thinned with anger. “In truth, do you mean to go to war? You so recently gave birth, and you are a druid, not a warrior. I will not have my son lose both a mother and a father. One of us should have stayed with him.”

“If I do not go to the battlefield, you will die. I must tell you of my dream from the gods.”

His erratic heartbeat began to slow. “Tell me. I need to know.”

There were three dreams, exactly alike, each one night apart. In the first two, I wasn’t with you, and you perished in them both. In the third, it was exactly the same, but I was on the field with you, and you survived. The gods are not only telling me how to save you, they are asking me to do it. If I ignore them, you will die in this battle. I must go. In the dream, you and I survive. I know you will live through the battle as it is you who will continue to lead the warriors against Rome. For in all three dreams Calach dies.”

“My father!” Brude’s face felt hot, he had trouble breathing and gasped for air.

“I fear it will be so,” Tanwen said in a faint, choked tone.

“I will order more warriors around him. Command them to watch his back,” Brude said.

“And so you should. But know this, if the gods do take him, his will be a warrior’s death, Calach is destined to die bravely, battling his enemies. I and other druids will sang of his glory for ages to come; forever. He will never be forgotten,” Tanwen said in a strong yet soothing tone.

“Yes, it is a fitting death for my father, the greatest chief the Caledonii have ever known. If he is to die on the field on the morrow then he will do so while delivering death blows to the Romans attacking him.”

“This is so.”

“My father as chief has to be on the field to lead us all to battle. Yet you should not be there. Tanwen, you are a druidess, not a warrior. You should not go. Why would the gods ask this of you?”

“I must be there,” Tanwen said firmly.

“I am not afraid to die,” Brude said.

“Even if you were not my husband, even if I didn’t love you—if I hated you—I still could not let you die. The gods have now revealed to me that you are the warrior chief who will keep the Romans from subduing the northern tribes. You must live. You are the reason Boudica sent me here. Have you so easily forgotten? You cannot be selfish. You must honor your ancestors, your tribe, and your land. You must live.”

“So you want me only for my destiny.”

“At first it was so, but I have come to love you. I will not have you leave me a widow and our son fatherless. So, you cannot die. I will curse you for all time if you do.”

“I
ken
how you feel for I could barely continue to live if anything happened to you.”

Tanwen and Brude awoke before dawn. He stood, nude but for the gold torque banding his neck. He placed a conical bronze helmet on his head, and Tanwen set a feathered headdress on hers. Tanwen wrapped a bull hide cloak over her red tunic and plaid skirt. He grabbed his iron spear, his long sword and his shield. stood before him, gazing intensely at every line and feature of his face and body. She took in every curve of the blue tattoos covering his bare skin, etching and embedding him into her memory. If the gods were not with them this day, she wanted to remember every detail of him for the rest of her life. She had to. He was the only man she would ever love, the father of her first-born child.

Brude tilted his head down and pressed his lips to hers, covering her mouth. She might never again feel the heat of his lips, the delicious sensation of his mouth on hers. She savored every moment of his wet, firm lips pressing against hers. When the lingering kiss finally ended, it left Tanwen’s lips still burning.

“Nothing bad shall happen to either of us,“ he whispered.

“In truth, I am sure of it.” She flashed the broadest smile she could as a voice in her head reminded the gods once more that they had better watch over Brude.