Boudica's Daughters - 11

11.

When Gwynned saw the last of a waning crescent moon, she whispered to Siara that a good omen had revealed itself. ‘Soon the new moon will appear, sister, putting an end to our time here.’ Siara was so frail she could barely open her eyes, so Gwynned went out onto the sands to collect clams, sea grass and anything else that might offer sustenance to her ailing sister.

Along the trackway a man appeared, walking alongside a horse and open cart. Gwynned showed herself. She could not see what was in the cart – a covering concealed the man’s cargo. As he brought the horse to standing, Gwynned asked him for food.

‘There’s no food for you here’ he said ‘only food for swine.’

She looked forlorn. ‘My sister suffers. I fear she is not long for this life.’

‘There’s many who suffer. The tribes are put to fire. The Roman sword cuts through the land without mercy.’

Gwynned said ‘Queen Boudica – she will drive the Romans away.’

The man shook his wizened head. ‘She’s dead. And so are thousands of those who followed her into battle. The Iceni are no more. Rome’s governor will put us all to waste. Invest in pigs, is my advice. There’s plenty of good meal for pigs to grow fat.’

He pulled back the rough hessian cover. Gwynned began to retch at the sudden foulness in the air. Several bodies were piled on top of one another – men, women, young, old – faces contorted in the death throes of fear and pain.

‘Leave your sister be’ he said as he readied himself to replace the cover ‘and follow me if you know what’s good for you.’

Gwynned did not believe this man and was about to spit in his leering face when something caught her eye. ‘Wait’ said Gwynned. She peered into the cart. Lying beneath a grisly tangle of limbs and sodden cloth was the pale face of Ygerne. ‘My sister!’ she cried. ‘My dear sister!’

The man laughed. ‘She was a strange ‘un. Said she was a daughter of the queen. The Romans chuckled too before they strung her up.’

Gwynned implored the man to allow Ygerne an honourable burial. ‘She is a princess’ she said and the man, disturbed by Gwynned’s sudden grief, agreed. ‘Take her then’ he said. ‘She’s only a small ‘un. Now, I can’t dally any longer. Let me be on my way.’

Gwynned pulled the small body from the pile. When the man had disappeared over the hill’s crest Gwynned carried Ygerne to the cave. Siara breathed still, but her breath remained shallow. Gwynned whispered to her the terrible news. She began to weep over the terrible loss of the young girl and, in her despair, accepted Boudica’s defeat. Soon her tears turned into shrieks of anger as Siara’s breath dissolved into nothing.

As the daylight began to fade Gwynned covered the bodies with sea wrack and beach stones. She kept a blazing fire in honour of her sisters and her tribe. The new moon appeared, bright above the ocean, the signal that Gwynned had been waiting for. Yet, she felt no relief or joy. Her world had crumbled around her. She was a fugitive princess, whose existence would be subject to fear and darkness. The wrath of Rome hung over her and every Iceni noble who still lived. Yet, she could no longer remain in the death-ravaged cave, hiding like a frightened sea creature.

Gwynned wrapped herself in one of Ygerne’s sheepskins and walked across the sands to the trackway. The young girl had taught her well. She felt ready to embark on a new journey, a journey that would take her over Brittania’s perilous hills and through its dark pungent forests. The black mountains of the Silures would be her destination – the high ground where defeated Britons gathered and prepared to drive the Romans south into the sea. She did not look back at the cave as she walked. Instead, she began to sing - a silly song about the birds and the bees that Ygerne always sang as they turned over sea rocks. It was as if the girl’s spirit was alive inside her, a bright, engaging spirit that was without fear, as well as a new found determination, cold and mischievous that she attributed not to Ygerne or her mother the fearsome red queen, but to Siara.