A Spear against the Sky
by M P Ericson
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2009 M P Ericson
First published 2009 in Time Well Bent (Lethe Press)
Smashwords edition published 2011
Cover photo copyright Harris Schiffman - Fotolia.com
Published by Byrnie Publishing
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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Cartimandua leaned on the parapet that topped the stone wall. This high up, she could see for miles -- over the fields and pastures that surrounded the massive hilltop fort, past the scattered homesteads and enclosures of her subjects, even as far as the line of forest to the south, the boundary that separated her domain from that of Venutius.
He was out there, she knew. Somewhere past that dark wall he waited, hoping she'd offer some chance for him to march on her territory and claim it as his own.
She wouldn't. She'd never give a finger's-width of it away. Not to him, nor to any crazed fool who thought war and destruction brought anything but grief.
Soon she'd have to tell his messengers so. The approaching riders came from the south. She could see them from here, a small clump sliding towards her across the rolling expanse of fields.
"Too small to be a threat," Vellocatus said. He was standing beside her, sniffing the breeze. "Too fast to be friendly. My guess is there's war in the south, and our help is wanted. Again."
"Why not send a lone rider, if they only want to ask for our help?"
"Maybe the others are going further. Northwards, perhaps." He squinted. "There's a cart in there."
Cartimandua stared at the clump.
"Impossible. A loaded cart wouldn't travel that fast, and why would they bring an empty one?"
"It could be lightly loaded. A woman, a child, an injured man. Who can say?"
"You can say. Go out and greet them."
He slung his cloak back over his shoulders and strode off. From his swagger, she guessed him to be well pleased with himself.
Silly man. He could take the power from her with a word, but he was content to run as her hunting-dog, savaging whatever prey she set him to. The hunt was his joy, not possession of the carcass. She loved him for that, if nothing else.
She watched as he sped across the fields, a single rider bringing challenge to the minions of Venutius.
The parties slowed, met, stopped. There was a quick exchange, lasting no more than a dozen breaths. Then Vellocatus wheeled around, and flew like a spear back towards the hillfort.
Ill news, most likely. Cartimandua threw a final glare at the forest, then walked down the wooden steps into the enclosure of her fort.
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"Boudica, Queen of the Iceni, and her daughters." Vellocatus raised his spear, which he had used to block the doorway, and stood aside.
Cartimandua rose. She had taken the time to comb and pin her hair and adjust her dress, to give the illusion that she had been calmly seated throughout the visitors' approach. Now she walked to greet them, unhurried, dignified. Inwardly, her heart pounded so fast she thought it would burst.
"You are welcome." She held out both hands.
"I am honoured." Boudica stood tall as ever, and her grip was as firm as it had been sixteen years ago. But her tawny hair fell to her waist in a tangled mass, and her eyes blazed with a fierce light.
"You are a widow?" Cartimandua studied the unkempt hair. "I am sorry. Your husband was a great man."
"He was a fool. And you can spare me the pretty words. I have no time nor wish for ceremony. You and I must talk."
"Can I at least offer you a meal and a drink?"
"Not now. Perhaps later, when I know what your answer is." Boudica pointed past Cartimandua's shoulder, to the alcove separated by thick curtains. "We'll talk in there. My daughters are coming with me."
Seated on the bed, with her daughters cuddled close to her, she spoke sharp harsh words about the Romans. The girls, perhaps ten and twelve years old, listened in silence.