Boudica's Daughters 9-10

9.

 

 

One afternoon Siara and Gwynned were sitting warming themselves. Fine rain was sweeping across the beach. Ygerne had re-kindled the fire early. Then she had disappeared in search of food.

 

‘Look sister’ said Gwynned, pointing.

 

A figure appeared – a man, wearing only a loincloth – on the far side of the beach, moving unsteadily through the sands.

 

‘What ails him ?’ said Gwynned.

 

Siara said: ‘He is wounded, sister.’

 

They ventured out. The tide was lapping at the stranger’s feet. He stood for a while, as if disturbed by his surroundings. Then he stood hunched, holding his neck, with no desire to escape the sea.

 

‘I fear he is close to death’ said Gwynned. ‘He stands without any notion of being buffeted by the wind.’

 

Sure enough, the man collapsed. The incoming tide washed over him, soaking his long dark hair and his rough beard. He gave a sharp cry of pain as he floundered in the foam. Siara and Gwynned heaved him out of the brine, supported him as best they could as they helped him make a tortuous walk to the cave.

 

They laid him beside the fire. The man was old – forty summers or so – and the wound was a deep untreated cut in his shoulder. Gwynned packed it with sea grass to prevent further bleeding. The wound was a day or so old; fever was beginning to ravage his mind and body.

 

The sisters did their best to keep the man warm but his delirium increased. His body dripped with sweat and he began to shake, so much so that Siara and Gwynned had to hold the man down as madness overcame him.

 

‘He will not last many hours’ said Gwynned.

 

‘Then we must prepare for his passing’ said Siara.

 

They tended him throughout the night. His groans and sudden, involuntary movements shook the heavy, tired eyes of the sisters until they responded, dabbing his lips with water, cooling his heated brow. Then, near dawn, a strange thing happened: the man stopped shivering and raised himself until he was sitting in the same manner as Siara and Gwynned. He looked around and asked where he was. Gwynned, shocked by the man’s apparent recovery, answered him whereupon he gave a nod of understanding. Then he scraped away the poultice Gwynned had packed into his wound, staring for a while at his damaged shoulder, the blood congealed, the deeper flesh red raw. He told them his name, how he had been ambushed by one of the eastern tribes. The tribe’s warriors were rounding up men and women to hand over to the Romans – men and women who would be transported to Rome and sold as slaves. He was one of the lucky ones who had escaped but not before a short sword tore through his flesh. His wife was not so lucky. The tribe had imprisoned her, along with the rest of their human bounty, in an underground cellar – a cave, similar to this, he said - which they closed up with a great stone set against the entrance. At daybreak, he said, I shall return and free them all. It is the tribe of the Corieltauvi that has taken her. They do Rome’s bidding. I shall go back and fight the Corieltauvi dogs and string up every one of them for the crows to feast on their bones. Then I shall take my wife to a new place, far away from the marauding hordes – far away from Rome’s merciless hand. Now, he said, let me rest before I go. I thank you for your hospitality. May your gods bring peace upon you.

 

He lay back and closed his eyes. Then his chest wheezed and bubbled and his eye lids flickered, as if to confirm to the sisters he had taken his leave from the world.

 

 

 

10.

 

 

Siara and Gwynned sat in the mouth of the cave for many days, chalking the moon’s phases on the cave wall. They dragged the body of the stranger to the sea’s edge at low tide and pushed it as far as they were able into the brine. At first the sea refused their offering; the waves deposited the body on the churned sand. Eventually, though, it disappeared and Gwynned recited an ancient prayer to ensure the stranger’s safe journey to the otherworld.

 

Ygerne had not returned. Each morning, at first light, Gwynned walked along the coastline calling the girl’s name. When there was no answer she stood in the shallows and scooped small fish trapped in the rock pools; then she lifted the red sea stones in search of crabs, in the same manner as the girl had taught her.

 

Siara grew weak. Her skin chaffed and her dry lips cracked. Even though Gwynned always offered her the largest portion of the boiled sea broth she made she knew that their primitive existence was taking its toll on her sister. And when, during their third month in the cave, the third quarter of the moon’s cycle appeared, Siara took to her bed. Gwynned sat beside her, stroking her sister’s  jet-black hair.

 

‘Why has Annimus not come to save me ?’ Siara said.

 

‘Because he is busy driving the Romans from our isle’ Gwynned said. ‘When it is over our mother the queen will send him to release us from our penance. Then, dear sister, you two will be married and there will be a great celebration. And when I am queen I will build you a palace of your own to house your many children.’

 

Siara began to weep. ‘Forgive me, sister’ she said, squeezing Gwynned’s hand so tightly that her finger joints began to crack.

 

‘There is nothing to forgive’ said Gwynned. ‘All I ask is that you remain strong until the new moon appears.’

 

Gwynned lay beside her sister, listening to the beating waves and the throbbing of Siara’s heart, until nightfall when her sorrow became so great that it sent her into a swirling, exhausted sleep.

 

Go to Part 11 here : Boudica's Daughters - 11 | ABCtales