The Warrior and the Druidess (22 page)

With his shoulder draped over her, they walked to the center of the village, which was crowded with Caledonii heading for battle. He guided Tanwen to his chariot as Huctia harnessed two roan ponies to it.

Brude leapt onto the platform of the light, Celtic chariot and reached out to his hand to help Tanwen climb aboard. Standing on the floorboards of the chariot, she gazed at the two Celtic ponies as they nickered softly. Putting a large hand on Tanwen’s waist, Brude drew her to him. She leaned in closer to him. As her hands roamed up his smooth, bare back, the muscles and tiny whorls of hair on his chest pressed against her bull hide war cloak. He brought his mouth to hers. His lips were full and warm. The heated kiss set her heart hammering. For a magical moment, she knew nothing about Agricola or war. She lost herself in his kiss.

When their lips parted, she gazed into his eyes. “Fear not for me. I will be busy with rituals. Don’t spare a moment to look at or think about what I’m doing.”

“And you listen to me for once. If anything happens to me, you fight on. You save yourself and leave me behind.” He pierced her with his gaze as if pondering whether she would do as he asked. “I mean it,” he said in a firmer tone.

Huctia leapt onto the chariot with them. “I will drive for you Brude, while you throw spears and while you,” she grinned at Tanwen, “call upon the gods to save us all.”

“I am glad you are here.” Brude patted Huctia on the back.

A throng of warriors with blue tattoos adorning their gleaming, leek-oiled bodies filled the road behind the chariots. Calach, leading this mix of northern tribes, spread his feet in a warrior stance as he stood aplomb in the chariot in front of Brude’s. With a slap of the reins, Calach yelled, “To high land, to the Graupius Mountain to fight the Romans.”

Holding the chariot reins, Huctia followed Calach out of the Caledonii village. They headed toward the distant ridge of the blue-toned mountain range to battle Agricola’s legions. The vast Pictish army of northern tribes, who put aside ancient grudges and tribal rivalries to unite under the war leader, Calach, snaked its way down winding dirt roads to the rhythmic beat of the bodhran war drum.

Tanwen gripped the side of the chariot with both hands, bracing against the rough ride. The pouch at her waist held bits of rowan wood, flint, hemp rope for knot tying and other supplies for druidry. She would cast spells upon the Romans, battling them in this manner. She would give the Picts an edge to sway the battle, though she knew there would be heavy Pict loses. She gulped and shut her eyes for a moment, pushing aside her doubts and fears.

The mountains that had once loomed before them now appeared green rather than blue, and they seemed larger as they drew nearer. Huctia whipped the reins down. Following the chief, she drove the chariot onto the rock-strewn, heather-covered moor. Clumps of trees were scattered here and there. The ponies snorted as she drew them to a halt on this battlefield at the foot of the mountains. Steep slopes rose above them on all sides.

Calach barked his commands, and the woad-painted warriors scurried into tiers in a horseshoe formation on the slopes. Brude and  the others in chariots, as well as those on horseback, took their places on the moor. They yelled out war cries as they waited for the Romans to advance.

Standing on the chariot platform next to Tanwen, Brude cupped her chin, gazed into her eyes and softly but firmly said, “Stay in the chariot and duck down. Keep the shield over your head.”

She leaned her head forward and planted a fluttery kiss on his full lips. Her mouth tingled. “Fear not. I have no plans to fight Romans at your side. I will be busy with rituals.”

He wound his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. “I should not worry, but how can I not? I cannot bear the thought of any harm coming to you.”

She wrapped her arms around him and shook her head. “I cannot be a distraction to you. I am here to keep you alive. Through my dreams, the gods have foretold that I must be at your side this day. Let the gods watch over me.”

“How can I not think about you?”

“By concentrating on beating the Romans.” She smiled at him and then shifted her gaze to Huctia. “You take care, as well.”

“Worry not for me, druidess. I do not plan to die this day.” Huctia replied.

The ground shook as the Romans, gripping large, red shields, marched in uniform rhythm onto the rubble-strewn moor. The chariots and horses now filling the battlefield were as numerous as the stalks of heather blooming there. The air rang with the high-pitched, reverberating blare of the long carnyxs trumpets. Brude let out a fierce Caledonii war cry.

At Calach’s orders, the warriors on the moor launched their spears, which flew hard at the Romans, piercing and killing many of them. With perfect precision, the Romans reared their arms back and let loose a hail of javelins flying over the Picts’ heads. Tanwen and Brude’s arms fell to their sides as they ducked down. Huctia gripped the reins tight.

As the onslaught of javelins subsided, Brude drew in a deep breath. “It is naught. Our greater numbers and the steep slopes give us an advantage.”

“We have other advantages as well.” Tanwen drew pieces of rowan wood from her leather pouch and lit them with a flint.

“What are you doing?” Huctia asked.

“Conjuring battle mist with the magic of rowan smoke to cover the battlefield so, as the Romans charge, they cannot see our true numbers. It will confuse them, and they will be vulnerable to our attack.”

Tanwen stood and held her arms out to the side. “I call forth the in-between. Neither sky nor water, druid mist, I summon to you.” She raised her arms over her head. “Spread around me, beneath me, above me.” She brought her hand over her heart. “I acknowledge the mist.” Standing on the wood platform of the chariot with her arms spread, she turned around three times.

"Manawydan fab Llyr, Lord of the Mist, I seek the mist. I invoke your power. Keep our warriors from harm by the stealth of the mist. I acknowledge the shroud of the mist that covers the battlefield, the mist that protects our warriors.” A white fog enveloped her and spread out from the moor to the slopes of the mountain. "Manawydan fab Llyr, keep us safe in the mist.”

Brude spun around in the thick fog. “You have called down the druid mist. It’s incredible.”

The thick mist covered the ground, and Tanwen couldn’t see further than the length of three horses in front of her. “I told you I needed to come with you.”

“And you are here. But hold that shield tightly over you.”

The din of war cries filled the air. Though she couldn’t see them well, by the thundering noise of marching hobnail boots pounding the ground, Tanwen knew the legions moved toward them.

“Here they come.” Huctia drove the chariot down the moor toward the Romans.

Tanwen clutched the shield as they rode into the bloody battle. Huctia whipped the reins downward, driving the ponies as fast as she could. Tanwen clutched the side of the chariot with one hand and held the long shield in front of her with the other. The druid mist had thinned, Tanwen could see before her now. As Brude stood in a battle stance on the flat platform brandishing his iron spear, the two muscular ponies galloped forward, goaded by Huctia. Two of Brude’s war dogs, large, shaggy wolfhounds, ran beside them, growling fiercely, hungry to dig their large teeth into Roman flesh.

The chariot sped forward to the line of Roman soldiers running toward them. As they rolled across the moor, Brude threw his spear and impaled a Roman horseman. Tanwen crouched down, picked up another spear from the floor board and then handed it to him. Romans dropped to the ground, impaled by his spears. He picked up his long sword and swung it at the Romans as Huctia drove the chariot back and forth across the blood-soaked moor.

Bare-headed Pictish warriors, with jagged, dark blue lines and circular patterns on their faces and bare chests, and with hair spiked with lime wash like a hedgehogs pelt, rushed the Roman force. Agricola’s reserve cavalry wheeled and struck the rear of the Caledonians on the moor. Huctia had to drive the chariot up the slope as the Roman force pushed all the Picts up hill.

The Romans moved in, stabbing Picts with their short swords. Tanwen could barely see their faces, just helmets, shields and short blades. They all looked the same, and they all moved the same; the Romans fought like a machine rather than individual warriors. The coppery smell of blood filled the air. The two chariot ponies neighed loudly as warriors and soldiers locked in hand-to-hand combat began to push against them.

Huctia yelled out, “I can’t move forward.”

Brude fought from the chariot, jabbing the Romans with his long sword.

Tanwen squatted on the chariot platform, holding the long narrow shield over her. She pulled out a wad of hemp rope and laid it on the floorboard so there were three points— north, west east, and two ends pointing south. She drew the ends up and over the east point and pulled that over to the left, so it faced the west. She pulled the north point over and down, then tucked it under. Bringing the west point over the right, she pulled it through and drew the ends of the rope to tighten the knot. Tanwen blew upon the magical Celtic knot with the words of a curse upon her breath. “This day, the Romans shall pay. Agricola shall leave this land. Legions shall perish this day by the spears of Pict war bands.” She tossed the tied knot to the earth to emit its magical power to curse Agricola.

Tanwen looked up as the Caledonian army on the slopes climbed down, rushing the Romans and charging their flank. Tanwen gasped as Agricola’s four squadrons of reserves countered the charge. Her heart hammered as her stomach flipped over. Tanwen gazed around.  The summer grass that had been so green now looked scarlet, drenched with blood.

it was high summer so she streamed with sweat. It plastered her long hair against her bull hide cloak, but it was the war cloak of a druid. It had to be worn in battle, regardless the heat. All who saw a figure in a bull cape knew a druid was there and the gods were with them, so they fought bravely. The thick, boiled leather hide  acted as a type of armor for her and it connected her to the otherworld, which  helped her work with the gods to keep as many of her people alive as she could and to help dispatch those who died to the otherworld as swiftly as possible.

The Picts held their shields tight as they ran with spears and swords held outward. The tattoos on their legs and arms were splattered with blood. Bravely, Calach’s men fought on, filled with battle lust. But Tanwen watched in terror as the Pict’s long, slashing swords hindered them in the tight melee. Without having the room for an arched, hacking swing, the Romans smashed the Picts in the face with their heavy shield bosses and pushed them back.

The chariot rocked to and fro like a ship at sea from the push of all the people. As the screams of the dying encircled them, Tanwen realized the chariot just got in the way on this steep slope. When a path cleared and Huctia moved forward, the chariot's wheels rolled over fresh corpses. Brude leapt over the side of the chariot. Swinging his sword fervently, he slew as many Romans as he could. As the soldiers pushed them back even more, Brude didn’t have room to wield his long sword. A Roman bashed Brude’s head with a shield boss. Tanwen screamed as Brude dropped to the ground. She couldn’t breathe. Tanwen trembled uncontrollably.
Dead. No, it cannot be. Gods, no.

Still in the chariot, holding a shield over her, Tanwen grabbed one of Brude’s spears and threw it. It pierced the Roman. Penetrating the chain mail, it protruded from his chest. Gushing blood, he fell to the ground. Tanwen leapt from the chariot and flew to Brude, chanting an invisibility spell so she could help her husband. She dropped to her knees at his side. Her fingers trembled as she swept them across his scalp, feeling for the wound. His head was drenched with blood, yet not overly so, and this filled her with relief. Then, she gasped as she realized his breath had stopped. Her body quivered and she began to sway as if she’d soon pass out. Fighting her emotions, she gained the calmness she needed to save her husband.

“You are not going to die on me. Do you hear me?” She leaned down, covering his lips with hers, she breathed into his mouth, hoping the rush of oxygen would revive him. Tears streamed down her eyes and fell on his pale cheeks. “Not now. You can’t pass through the oaken door. Boudicius needs you. I need you. We have a lifetime of happiness before us.” She kept checking him between breaths. Hoping. Suddenly his eyelids flicked open. Tanwen screamed with joy. “Brude, are you all right?”

“What happened?”

She choked back her sobs. “You have an injury to your head from a Roman shield. Can you walk?”

“Yes.”

“Get up, very slowly.”  She placed his shoulder on hers and helped him rise to a standing position. Tanwen chanted the spell for Huctia and called out to her. As Huctia leapt from the chariot and ran over to them, she was invisible to the Romans. Tanwen continued the chant as she and Huctia helped Brude walk toward the woods. “I am a blur. Make those who look not see me. I am a shadow, nothing more— unseen, unheard, unknown. I pass my enemies unnoticed.” All around them, tattooed warriors ran for the shelter of the woods. “Even though the moor and mountains reek of blood, and the scarlet ground is covered with the dead. Many are fleeing. Most of us have survived.”

Between groans, Brude agreed, “Yes, it is good.”

“The Romans will give chase and try to capture or kill us,” Huctia said.

“They will not find us. Once I get into the forest where I can concentrate, I’ll surround the woods with druid mist to protect everyone who escaped.”

With Brude having to lean on both Tanwen and Huctia, they moved at a slow but steady pace.

Tanwen sighed with relief when they entered the sanctuary of the wild woods. “The forest will hide us all.” She called forth the mist. The thick, vapory shroud spread around the woods, concealing it and all the Picts who hid there from Roman eyes.

Tanwen heard voices she recognized in the mist. “Gethin, Drest, Talorcan, we are here.”

“Tanwen, you are safe,” Gethin called out.