CHAPTER 1

Venta Icenorum - Spring 48 AD

Savoring their last moments of peaceful solitude Boudicca and Maelan paused at the crest of a low hill, to gaze at Venta Icenorum. The peaceful but bustling town lay snug against the far bank of the sparkling River Tas. Ringed with well-maintained thick walls and protective ditches it was hard to see the city itself, but Boudicca admired its clever design. The way it had been built to catch the gentle winds that blew up the river. Using nature's fresh clean breezes to maintain the inhabitant's health, and help disperse the haze from the numerous campfires that currently lay low in the valley floor, like an autumn morning fog. Easier to see was a second city of great encampments that had sprung up to surround the town and sprawl out on both sides of the river. Even at such a distance she could clearly identify the banners of various chieftains of the Iceni, Trinivantes and other nearby and allied tribes, as they flapped gently in the breeze over the maze of brightly colored tents. It was like the town was under siege. Thankfully though, this was a siege of well-wishers instead of an army of invaders. Venta Icenorum had in fact become the hub of a great gathering of the clans. And a peaceful gathering at that. Where no signs of the recent conflict, which had so recently ravaged this area, were apparent in the land or in the people.

"There is peace now between the Iceni and the Romans," Boudicca commented off-handedly. "I understand Prasutages is a fair strong king, who promises to rule well despite his lack of training. Or perhaps because of it."

"Yes, but he is newly crowned and will need a queen by his side," Maelan offered. "He will need a woman of equal strength, who has the knowledge of kingship to guide him."

"Is that why we are here? Are you playing matchmaker?" she laughed, glancing at him mischievously out of the corner of her eyes.

"We are invited. Proper introductions and oaths need to be made. If something comes of it…Well then it is all to the good. If not that is fine as well," Maelan replied. Unruffled by his daughter's taunting he adjusted the grip on his staff and began walking down the hill toward the town.

"We shall see, we shall see," she laughed, falling into step beside her father.

As they drew near the outer encampments the noise of the throng, to ears more accustomed to the quiet of the wild fens, grew to be overwhelming. The boisterous songs, the rhythmic clang of forges, screaming children at play, good natured boasting matches, bets called out on arguments and tests of skill and strength and the barking-growling challenges between dogs, blended into a symphony that was life among the clans. An all-pervasive sound that was as welcoming as it was deafening.

In the din of exuberance calls began to be heard. Words shouted above the noise of the gathering, 'The Arch-Druid is here!" "The Lady is here!" The shouts were picked up and repeated, carrying from camp to camp, spreading the news like wildfire.

The pair smiled good-naturedly and nodded briefly to those they knew as they made their way purposefully through the crowded tents and milling people. Though polite they refused to be distracted as they wove their way toward the river and the town beyond. And even in the tight press a path was opened up for them, closing up just as quickly once they had moved on. No one of the clans, not even a child, would be so rude as to jostle either the Arch-Druid or the Lady of the Land. Nor would the pair be approached with questions or conversation until they had been properly refreshed, but that was just good manners and extended to everyone.
Boudicca carefully noted the condition of the folk as they made their way to the river. The people in general were of good stature, with strong clean limbs, crowned by shiny manes in all the shades of gold and sunshine. The cloth of their garments, though not always new, were brightly woven, clean and in good repair. There was little sign of faded thin cloth, or over-mended fraying, displaying the past and current prosperity of the clans. Coils, spirals and interwoven knotwork animals fashioned from gleaming gold and sparkling stones adorned foreheads, ears, wrists, fingers and waists. While thick warrior torcs graced many men and women, proudly announcing their clan's, as well as their own, prestige and prowess.

Boudicca occasionally caught sight of some of the old folk in the crowd. The smaller, darker people were clothed in finely cured leathers and furs, with faces covered in beautiful woad tattoos. Shy and quiet by nature, they would nod a quick greeting to Boudicca before vanishing back into the throng, as apt in their ability to disappear in a crowd as they were in the wilderness. Few of the clan's folk even saw them, and those that did respected the little people's furtive nature and gave no indication that they had been seen.

By the time Boudicca and Maelan made their way through the sprawling outer camps and reached the river a punt had already been prepared for them. The small plain boat had been decked out in early blooming flowers so as to be easily recognizable amongst the other unadorned vessels. A youthful pilot stood proudly in the prow, stiff with anxiety and awe. Too young yet to grow a proper mustache, his gangly limbs hinted at the strong man he would become. It was plain to see that the youth was aware of the prestigious task that had been granted him, and he had dressed in his finest to escort the pair safely across the river to the city shore. The colors of his trews and tunic easily identified him as an Iceni of Venta Icenorum, and a thick warrior's torc weighed heavily on his neck and collarbones. The heavy torc had already rubbed raw red-marks into his fair skin, showing that he had but recently earned it. Probably in the recent war with the Roman invaders, Boudicca thought, or perhaps in one of the inner clan conflicts that defined her people. The couple gracefully stepped into the bobbing boat and took their seats, smiling openly at the boy to ease his trepidation.

As they set out across the narrow river, Boudicca noticed the flotilla that had launched around them. People, decked out in their best finery, filled boats almost too the point of foundering as they flocked to the city, wanting to arrive early and secure the best seating at the celebratory feast. Everyone knew that only the highest-ranking members of the clans would be able to fit in even the grandest feasting hall. Yet still they jockeyed for position in a half-playful, half-deadly earnest way that brought a small smile to Boudicca's lips. It was the first proper king-making to happen on this side of the island in more than a generation, and each and every person here wanted to be sure that they were part of the joyous event. She couldn't blame them. The tale of a king-making was usually a good one, and when told by someone who was actually there it carried a great deal more weight and honor. Not to mention the fact that the teller of such a tale could, and probably would, guarantee themself many a mug of mead on a cold winter's night.

Twitching her wandering mind back to the task at hand Boudicca turned back to her father and their young escort. For even as happy calls echoed across the water between racing skiffs and punts, Maelan began questioning the pilot of their boat. He asked questions about the city and its people, how the people felt about their new king and the treaty with Rome. His questions were gently put, to elicit the boy's own observations and opinions, and asked in a way that would ease his nervousness and give him status as a provider of information to the Arch-Druid. Maelan deftly gave the impression that he already knew the answers to the questions he asked but he valued the boy's input. And like the trained and sensitive bard that he was the questions were asked in a way that would give the boy a good tale to tell to others later.

Boudicca leaned back and listened with half an ear to the conversation. In general the people seemed happy with the alliance. The Romans gained a meaningless title in return for grand gifts and tokens of allegiance granted to the Iceni. Something about the arrangement sounded off to her. Were the Romans sincere in their offer of alliance or were they as devious as she had heard? Never having met a Roman she would reserve her opinion, despite the stories that flew about the land. After all similar tales had flown about in the season when Caesar had come to their shores, and he had gone quickly away. Instead of pursuing the 'what ifs and if nots' of thoughts that could not yet be answered she concentrated on watching the approaching city.

The walls seemed strong, but her keen eyes inadvertently sought out weak points that needed addressing. She watched people stream through the broad river gates and into the city. But rather than admiring the crowd her thoughts focused instead on the need for additional defenses. With the ramp and gate set up the way they were an entire invading army could rush the gates before the defenders could properly secure the massive doors. Plans flashed through her mind, in an almost endless parade, of tricks and traps that could be used to better secure the river approach, to protect against fleets or fording armies.

Boudicca absently shook her head to free it of the disturbing thoughts. It was not her city. She belonged to the open land not a walled-in garden. She was the Lady of the Land, the maker of kings, the chooser of Druids, the keeper of the wilds, who lived in Ardwinna's embrace. She was not a city dweller who huddled behind walls for protection. Why were her thoughts straying in such a manner? She would not be staying so why should the city's defenses concern her? Yet before she could decipher these feelings of foreboding their punt scrapped against the city's shore, and the time for introspection was gone.
With the boundless energy of youth, the punt's young pilot leapt out to drag his craft securely onto the shore, undeterred by the added weight of his passengers. Boudicca and Maelan braced themselves against the jarring motion as the punt caught and tilted on the muddy bank and waited for the boy to be satisfied with its beaching. It wasn't until he had the punt half out of the water before he recalled himself to his passenger's dignity. Ceasing his relentless tugging the boy offered his hand to both the Arch-Druid and the Lady of the Land, in an attempt to rectify their being tossed about by his efforts. Although Maelan refused the youth's offer, Boudicca took the young man's proffered hand out of politeness sake, rather than a need for balance, as she stepped out of the unsteadily rocking craft.
"What is you name?" she asked him, as she stepped ashore.

"Owain, Lady," the boy whispered, more at ease, but still in awe of the Lady.

"An auspicious name. Know you the tale of Owain of the Ravens?" Boudicca asked politely.

"No Lady I have not heard it," Owain replied respectfully, even though his eyes gleamed at the thought of being named after a hero of the Lady's homeland.

"Come to me tomorrow at mid-day, if time permits, and I will tell it to you," Boudicca offered graciously. "It is a fine tale from the Westlands and though you granted us passage as a gift I would like to offer you this tale as reward for seeing us safely here."

The young man's face lit up with a great smile and he stammered thanks to her as the pair walked away. Owain quickly disappeared from sight as Boudicca and Maelan joined the crowd making their way to the city gates. But thoughts of the boy still floated in Boudicca's mind. Yes the tale of the ride would give him some prestige amongst his peers. But the special selection by the Lady of the Land and the gift of knowing the greatness of his name would give him prestige with himself. And that type of prestige was more important than any other, at least to Boudicca's mind. Something about the boy tingled in Boudicca's mind but the meaning of her undefined premonition remained elusive, so that she was forced to set it aside for the present. It would reveal itself in the fullness of time. This town and this king-making were stirring up too many indefinable and irresolvable thoughts and emotions. She would have to watch herself closely in this place, for something was definitely afoot. Although whether it would be to the good or to the bad remained to be seen.

The pair remained silent as they trudged up the muddy embankment, moving effortlessly through the current of the migrating celebrants. Though they spoke to no one they remained gracious to those they passed, taking refuge behind the careful masks of their position. Lost in their own private thoughts neither noticed the quiet agitation that had taken hold of the other. The very air seemed to hum with a melody of expectation that vibrated in their very bones. What was going on? What was so very different about this place, this king-making? Without conscious decision both found that their thoughts had turned from an enjoyable visit to the duties that awaited them, as they took their roles fully onto themselves.

Shadows lengthened by leaps and bounds as they approached the city walls, but the sun still had more than a candlemark before it would sink beyond the horizon. And although there was still plenty of light from the amber tinted sky, torches had begun to be lit against the coming darkness. Ahead of the regal pair, clearly illuminated in the flickering light of the newly lit brands, was a gathering of clan chieftains who waited at the gate. Decked out in a mishmash of glorious attire, it was plain to see that they had been gathered for quite a while, probably since the first call of their arrival was announced. For although they were still fashionably groom they had the telltale splattering of dark spots on their boots and even part way up their trews and gowns, bespeaking the kicked up mud of the folk who had passed them.

With a feeling of respectful enthusiasm the assembled leaders offered to have one of their number personally escort the pair to the guesthouse prepared for them. A grand gesture to be sure, but one that was fraught with political posturing and aggressive egos. Seeking to show no preference of one chieftain over another, and thereby avoiding conflict and probably bloodshed, Maelan accepted the honor from all of the assembled dignitaries. Maelan's proposal did much to relieve the underlying tension that had been weighing on the status conscious chieftains and was quickly agreed to by the assembled leaders.

What a spectacle they made, Boudicca chuckled to herself. She and her father were flanked on all sides by the heads of all the various gathered clans, who marched along briskly with their weapons bared and ready. And although there was no real danger they took their duty seriously, as befitted strong clan heads. With regal dignity the procession moved through the streets with shouts from the chieftains to clear the way for the Arch-Druid and the Lady of the Land. And despite the heavy traffic people pressed themselves back and away from the briskly moving dignitaries, parting around them as water around a stone. Behind the entourage sound rose up in a wave as folk gathered to gossip about the upcoming king-making or to call out for their friends and family to hurry and get ready for the feast.

Boudicca covertly peeked past the broad shoulders and backs of the men and women around her. Though she could not explain it to herself, she still felt the nagging need to see as much of the city as she could, without being obvious. Boudicca noted the sturdiness of the buildings, and the beauty of the city. Roads were laid out in straight lines, like the threads in a plaid, allowing the flow of air and people between the buildings. Small gardens, already sprouting with green, surrounded houses and framed the road. The small plots were all well tended and radiated a sense of expectation, self-sufficiency and peace. Good solid homes, built in the old style, with walls thick enough to shut out sound and weather lay interspersed with wood fronted shops with beautifully carved doorframes, depicting what they sold. The buildings were all newly thatched after the winter storms, and neat corn dollies tipped the end caps. A fact which spoke well of the industry of the town's inhabitants. In addition no one sat on the shame benches outside the homes. Another sign that boded well for the fairness of the people and their ability to refrain from grievous transgression, despite the overcrowded conditions of the gathering. While above it all peaked the roof of the great hall, leading the stranger to the King's presence and the clan's welcoming hospitality.

Boudicca was so taken with the city, and the feeling of warm welcome that flowed out of the very walls themselves, that she was caught by surprise when the procession suddenly they came out into the commotion of the great central market. The market area was filled with people who were busy tearing down the market stalls and setting up long feasting tables around its perimeter. The sound rushed at her like an unstoppable wave as the laughing, yelling, voices of the people bounced off the surrounding walls and echoed back on itself, building up and up in a crescendo of titanic proportions. It made the noise of the outer camps seem like the lone song of a cricket in comparison. Boudicca was forced to exercise all of her self-control not to throw up her hands to cover her ears, as they entered deeper into the market area.

Straight across from Boudicca, on the far side of the market, lay the great hall. It had been built in a combination of the old style and the style of the Northmen and offered an imposing and impressive sight. The hall had thick walls for defense, and peaceful quiet should celebrations run late, and it was adorned on the exterior with posts and cross beams of dark oak carved with tales of the clan. The building towered two-stories and had overhanging eaves and roof posts, that matched the crossbeams, offering protection from rain and snow. Giant oaken doors, the height of two men wrapped with thick black iron bands stood open to the air, welcoming and reassuring in their solidness. It was clearly the edifice of a leader that knew the worth of defense and protection.

Boudicca tried vainly to shut out the ear-shattering din as she walked with her surrounding escorts, to a set of buildings on the closer side of the market square. There a guesthouse lay in a place of honor, next to the healer's home. The guesthouse had a plain exterior, in an obvious effort to prevent any inadvertent offence to a visiting dignitary. However the neighboring healer's place was even more elaborately carved than the great hall itself, with flowers and herbs and all the plants of the healer's craft in an eye pleasing collage. She had to be a well-trained and capable healer by the looks of her home, and her diligence and prestige were readily recognizable by the herbs that hung drying under her eaves and the beauty of her dwelling. Yes this was a clan and a city that knew the old ways and honored them to the highest level. Boudicca recognized it as yet another indication that a king chosen by this clan would be a man of honor and good reputation.
With silent yet courteous bows the chieftains left Boudicca and Maelan at the guesthouse door. Their duty done chieftains turned in unison to make their way across the harried crowd to the great hall, as eager as their clans to gain good seats for the upcoming celebrations.

The pair quickly entered their borrowed home and Boudicca shut the small door behind them with relief. With a quick flick of her wrist she dropped the leather wind curtain, finally closing out the cacophony of the busy marketplace it fronted. Freed of the oppressive noise she turned with appreciation to examine their accommodations. No more than ten paces long it was a cozy little cot with elegantly carved wall and roof beams. Fresh herbs had been spread with the bedding and the furs that covered the floor giving the place a fresh delicate scent. Beautifully woven dividing cloths were pulled back to reveal two separate sleeping boxes and a bathing area that held a great oaken cask already filled with heated water that steamed even in the cozy warmth of the room. Over the crackling fire hung a pot of fragrant tea, smelling of refreshing clover and mint tea while a second large pot of water simmered next to the hearth, waiting to reheat the bath.
"They must have started heating the water when they heard we were close," Boudicca mused happily.

"You bathe first Boudicca. It always takes you longer to prepare anyway," Maelan laughed as he turned to pour himself a cup of tea.

Boudicca saw no reason to object. Her skin itched with from road dust and her scalp felt caked with grime. With unveiled delight she found that there was even fine lavender scented goats milk soap to bathe with. Without hesitation or modesty she stripped off her travel garb and eased herself into the almost scalding water, elated at the relaxing heat and feeling of cleanliness.

"You saw the little people," Maelan commented, loudly slurping his tea.

"I did," Boudicca said submerging her head, hearing the echo of her words in the water. "I wonder what stake they have in this kingmaking. Judging by the tattoos some of them have traveled the full length of the land to be here. And it is not like them to come to one of these unless the king is one of their own or reigns near their lands. They let us know they are here but I don't think they want their presence known to the others."

"Their reasoning will become apparent soon," Maelan mused.

"Yes I know, in the fullness of their time," Boudicca sighed feeling the heat ease her muscles and delightfully sap her strength. "I don't suppose I could just go to sleep in here and deal with the introductions tomorrow."

"Not likely," Maelan laughed. "I could smell the feast as we came in."

"So did I," Boudicca grumbled half-heartedly. "Ah well I suppose we should not keep them waiting too long."

Boudicca resolutely set to scrubbing up. Even if she had to hurry she could still relish the feel of the soft soap that seemed to soak right into her skin, easing and softening her sun tightened flesh. She regretted the need to get out while the water was still hot. After all it had been more than a moon since she had bathed in anything other than a chilly spring. But duty called and would not be denied. Boudicca climbed out of the water and dried herself briskly with a rough cloth. After winding the drying cloth about her she stepped out the bathing nook to give her father his chance to clean up.

She moved past her father, who was just as eager as she had been for the chance at a hot bath, and grabbed her travel bag. With a deft flip she upended its contents and began rummaging through them for her ceremonial garb. While her father took his turn in the tub Boudicca prepared herself as befitted the Lady of the Land. Not vain by nature, it was a small ritual she performed for others. Her thick wavy knee-length hair was neatly braided down her back, interlaced with green and gold shot ribbons. The thin colorful strands not only accented the deep honey hue of her mane but also helped keep her almost untamable hair in place. Small gold combs in the shapes of knotwork cats set with northern amber were used to secure the unruly tendrils that refused to stay braided.

Her hair finally subdued she pulled her thin linen under-shift over her head and straightened the embroidered sleeves so the spiraling coil design would run up the top of her arms. On top of the shift Boudicca slid on a long sleeved over-robe, adjusting the unusually long loose sleeves so they would be out of her way during the feast. It had been made for her, as a child, by the last Lady of the Land. Now that she was grown it fit her perfectly and never seemed to show signs of age. It was woven of soft-combed wool the shade of spring rain clouds, which matched her steely eyes and was embroidered all over in swirls of knotwork depicting the elements, animals and plants. Over this she hung her belt of interlocking gold worked leaves set with gleaming gems in all the colors of the flowers, complete with a built in sheath for her feasting dagger. The belt had been created with matching thick bracelets, earrings and rings, which Boudicca carefully donned to complete the proper image of the Lady of the Land. The jewelry had been ancient before her predecessor's predecessor had been born and it was as much a mark of the Lady as the tattoo that adorned her belly.

Last but hardly least she slid her warrior's torc back on. Crafted of heavy red gold it rested warmly against her skin but left no marks of its presence as the young boy's torc had done. She had had it for far too long for it to chaff her skin. In fact it was the only piece of jewelry that she always wore. It had been her badge of pride and honor, completely separate from her position as the Lady of the Land, since she was twelve summers old. When she had been properly earned it from her first, and only, battle where she fought at the side of the Galatians. A fierce clan of Celtae mercenary warriors who went into battle naked, in order to be one with all life, as their faith dictated. They had been so impressed with her innate battle prowess that they had bestowed the torc on her and then proceeded to grant her a full year's training, which was unheard of for any but their own kind.

"Are you done primping?" her father laughed.

Once again Boudicca pulled her mind away from reminisces of battle and defenses. What was wrong with her? Why did her thoughts keep straying like lost lambs? In an effort to hide her discomfort Boudicca threw her father a mock glare before she took careful note of his appearance. His snow-white hair and beard were carefully combed out, flowing loose and long down the front of his plain white robes. His raiment was unmarked by his usual decoration or symbols of status. The only thing that made him stand out from other Druids in training, other than his age, was his powerful presence which seemed to press against the very air around him. He had become the embodiment of the impartial and unrelenting winter, the embodiment of the impartial judge.

"Well, I see that you are. Why so plain tonight father?" Boudicca asked, slightly perplexed. "The people have already elected him, and the clan looks healthy and prosperous. Is it necessary to publicly judge him? Or is it because of one of the others among the clans?"

"There is a Roman hand in his election as you well know," Maelan replied evenly. "The little folk have come here, for this kingmaking. I do not know what judgment is needed yet. But they have come here for a reason. It is important to them…"

"And what is important to them is important to the land," Boudicca finished for him, nodding. "I do not feel they have come for a judgment. It seems they are excited and happy about this kingmaking. I got the impression that they had come here to witness something. Although to be honest I don't know what it is they have come to see. Either way it promises to be a long night."

Boudicca took a deep stilling breath, and quieted her mind. She tucked the thoughts, worries and doubts of Boudicca safely away, where they could not interfere with her duties as the Lady. As her mind emptied of mundane thoughts and feelings she could feel the power of the land reaching out for her, and she welcomed it with open mind and open heart. The earth's heartbeat rose up and filled her, throbbing through her in time with the land's heartbeat, tuning her like an instrument for the land to play. She willingly became part of the most ancient song, a melody that was ever changing and yet ever the same. She became only the Lady, who saw beyond emotion and needs of the moment. The Lady who saw the bared truth men hid in their souls. Everything around her took on a misty glow, the flowing moving life that filled all places, all things. She was ready.

With a brief nod to Maelan Boudicca ducked through the low door and out into the cool night air. She felt the whispering breezes caress her skin and listened to the tales the wind carried. During the pair's brief sojourn in the guesthouse the square had been transformed from a marketplace into an impromptu feasting hall. Long tables and benches lined the outer edges, in staggered rows, leaving the center open for entertainers, dancing and sport. People crowded the benches, gleaming like jewels in the flickering torchlight, and filled the air with a thundering wave of laughter and song. Tiny balls of light flashed and darted among the unseeing revelers. Faint half-seen wispy forms clustered around the singers and musicians, swaying back and forth to the tunes. Small beings of many different Kines danced and cavorted in the shadows and under tables. Wee folk would occasionally snatch food and drink from the feasters and roll with laughter while the humans vainly searched for their missing cups and plates. Oh yes, it was a merry great gathering of the tribes both ancient and new. A celebration of life by the people who were one with the land on which they stood.

The Lady of the Land and the Arch-Druid stepped out of the shadows, side-by-side, and marched briskly through the square towards the great hall. Silence fell on the great assembly, crackling with expectations. As if the entire gathered host saw-felt the power that flowed from the pair like great swirling cloaks. In that moment all the celebrants knew this would be no ordinary kingmaking.

The laden quiet raced ahead of them, so by the time the pair had reached the wide flung doors, the great hall already echoed with curious silence. Without pause they moved past the doors and into the smoky over-warm interior of the cavernous room. The Lady casually noted the great chieftains and their families that lined both sides and both levels of the open central hall. But she was not here for them. The excited anticipation of the crowd thrummed in the air, flying forth from all those gathered. All except for a small ball of nervous tension with floated beyond the central fire. The source of the anxiety was hidden by the high stepping flames. But it was without a doubt Prasutages.

With proper respect for the fire and its sprites Boudicca and Maelan continued on their path toward the newly appointed king, keeping the flames to their right-hand side. Prasutages sat, taunt with apprehension, at the center of a long raised table. He was flanked on both sides by two open seats for the Arch-Druid and the Lady to choose from, as was proper. Yet the absence of people next to him made him seem alone and abandoned amidst the great gathering.

Prasutages arose with feral grace to offer the clan's guesting cup to the dignitaries personally. His presence was commanding and powerful, despite his nervousness. Boudicca noted with approval that the would-be king cut quite the figure of a Celtae man. He was broad-shouldered, with only a slight barrel to his chest, narrowing to firm muscular hips. Well-rounded muscles slid effortlessly under his firm glistening skin, crisscrossed with faded white scars from battle, displaying his fitness and strength as a warrior. Sweat gleamed on his arms and chest, bared due to the heat of the hall, and ran down his forehead to be caught in his headband of Iceni colors. Summer sky eyes, clear and unmuddled by mead or wine, gazed levelly at them with open and welcoming expression. He had numerous long summer wheat braids decorated with feathers and small colored beads that swayed with his movements and ticked against his golden warrior's torc. While a thick virile mustache draped down both sides of his mouth, slightly lighter than his hair, it hung a handspan longer than his chin, with tips groomed into pointed tusks white with lime. On the exterior he was the model of an Iceni warrior and leader. But it was a matter of character, of mind, heart and soul that would determine if he was fit to be a king of the land.

Formally the Arch-Druid stepped forward to accept the guesting cup, quietly murmuring the ritual words as if they were a secret between himself and the king. Then the Lady stepped forward to take the cup from the King, feeling the smooth raised pattern of horses and swans beneath her palms.

Over the cup her eyes met the kings and as he spoke the ritual words of greeting she plunged deep into his soul, observing but remaining separate. She saw his rough and tumble youth and the morals ingrained in him by his parents. She saw his love of beauty and music. His joy in riding free in the wind as one with his horse. His pride in his hard-earned battle prowess. She saw his courage. His fears of failing his clan. His concern over the Romans and what they meant to his people. She saw his shock and anger at the split in his clan that led to the recent conflict with the Romans. She witnessed his private vow never to allow the clan to be split again while he lived. She saw his driving need for peace and order. His need to keep his people safe and prosperous. She saw his craving for a strong wife, or wives, and children to love, nurture and raise. She saw his desire for her.

Snapping back from her soulwalk, she looked again in his eyes, and saw Cernunnos winking at her from behind Prasutages' mask. 'It is time to take a new step in our dance,' Cernunnos sang in her head.

All this had taken less time than one breath to another, for Prasutages had not even finished his greeting, and in the next breath the Lady made her decision. She knew the Arch-Druid would be shocked and surprised by her actions without consulting him first. The fact that Maelan was prepared to judge the king, did not weaken her resolve. She was the Lady. It was her duty to make kings, and this king already walked with the Lord of the Forests. The Gods had already made their decision and so had she.

"I greet you in peace, King Prasutages of the Iceni," her bardic trained voice resonated through the great hall and beyond, so all would hear her break from protocol. "I thank you for your hospitality. May your reign be long and your hall filled with strong family ties and loyal companions. May the songs of Iceni deeds and prowess under your leadership echo through the ages. May my presence add harmony to you clan."

With closed eyes she drank the cool clear spring water that filled the cup, feeling the whirlwind she had started pick up speed around her. She knew when her father's head snapped toward her in confusion, unaware of what had transpired to make her proclaim such a thing. She felt the relieved smile that stretched Prasutages' face and the sighs of satisfaction from the gathered clans. Beyond and around it all she felt the jubilant cheers of the ancient tribes humming in the air.
With fluid grace she returned the cup to Prasutages, allowing her fingertips to brush his. Lightening arced between them, coursing through her, awakening every sense and heightening sensations into a crackling pitch. The Lady calling to the Lord, the land calling to the sun and rain, life calling to life, female to male, in the dance of creation more ancient than time. When she gazed up into his eyes she saw his hunger calling to her as she was calling to him.

"The kingmaking will be tonight," she announced.

The hall erupted in cheers and calls of well wishing which quickly carried beyond the walls to the crowd outside. Cups were raised, as drink began to flow more liberally, food was ravished by hungry guests, who wanted their fill before the festivities commenced.

Amidst this explosion of merriment the Lady tore her eyes reluctantly away from the King to meet the Arch-Druid's unspoken question. Without word or hesitation she silently showed him what she had seen, mind to mind. With a lopsided grin, and an 'I told you so' look, he motioned for her to sit on the right and turned away to take his place at the left hand of Prasutages. She had made kings before, but never had her aspect as the Lady reacted so fervently. Nor was she alone in her inner turmoil.

Prasutages' eyes followed her every movement, enraptured, entranced, caught in the power of Cernunnos' web with her, undeniable, inescapable. Her skin grew feverishly hot and too tight for her body, oversensitive, over-stimulated. The brush of her soft undershift became the touch of a lover's hands languorously caressing every inch of her, all at once, teasing, promising, arousing. Her breathing became shallow and rapid, just short of panting. Uncontrollable purrs of pleasure caught in her throat, unheard by the crowd but thundering in the over-sensitized ears of the king. Who answered her call with deep sub-vocal growls that rumbled deeply in his chest, and sent chills across her flesh.

The Lady's firm breast ached with the need of his touch. His touch, yes she needed his touch. Her nipples hardened, rubbing against the shift, sending shivers of anticipation through her belly. Her women's gate opened, welcoming, throbbing in time with her heartbeat, ready, begging for his touch, demanding release. The scent of his maleness, his arousal, permeated the air around them, overshadowing the normal aromas of the feast, blocking all but its presence from her senses.
They unconsciously leaned toward each other, instinctively seeking physical contact with the source of their surcease. The firm pressure of his thigh against hers tipped her over the edge. Small waves of climatic ecstasy pulsed through her, picking her up on the next wave before the previous one had passed. It was too much for her to bear in silence. She threw back her head to moan openly in pleasure as the small waves grew stronger, the crests higher, knowing that it was but a taste of what was to come. She felt his mouth against her throat, kissing, biting, growling, as he claimed dominance.

All pretence of feasting gone he scooped her up in his arms and carried her from the hall. The feel of his strong arms and firm chest against her drove her beyond caution or caring. She ripped her under-shift down, baring her breasts to the cool night air and his attentions. With a deft movement he flipped her around so that her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms encircled his neck, his face pressed against her breasts. Never breaking stride. Never pausing. He knew the way to the field.

Prasutages appreciatively squeezed her buttocks in his great hands, feeling their firmness and pulling her tighter against him. The tips of his fingers sought her softness, pressing cloth up against her sex, into its crevice, touching, rubbing, hungrily seeking her fullness. The Lady slid down to feel his hands more fully. She could feel his manhood jutting up between her thighs, separated from its goal by layers of restricting clothing. She hungrily clamped it between his belly and her groin, tightening her legs around him with spasms of climax. She rocked her hips back and forth across his fingertips and against his staff, seeking, yearning, needing him inside her.
His groan of pleasure was muffled as he took her nipple into his mouth suckling, nibbling, owning, sending waves of heat through them both. The cloth between them became soaked, thinning, allowing them to feel each other more, his fingers climbed deeper into her wetness, seeking the source, but it was still not enough. Her hands roamed his back and chest slipping between their bellies. With deft fingers she reached into his trews to grasp his hardness. Her hand slid her hand up and down its length, feeling the back of her hand rubbing up and down her own throbbing need. Not caring.

A small part of her noticed they were outside the town walls and in the fields, cleared but unplowed waiting for the sacred marriage. A special field that had been prepared for them. Her hand released his shaft and slid back up to his shoulders, ignoring his groan of frustration. The Lady knew that soon they would both have release, but the proper rituals had to be performed first. She pulled his shoulders toward her pressuring him to lower her to the ground. Not understanding Prasutages glanced up with at her with eyes dark and glazed with need. His look begged for fulfillment, unwilling to surrender his hold on her. His eyes questioned her actions even as he sought her lead.

"The field my lord. We must bless the land as we bless you in the Sacred Marriage," she breathed huskily into his ear.

She felt him shuddering against her, as duty warred with driving desire, until they flowed as a single stream toward the same goal. Shivers of longing wracked her body, as his fingers retreated from her gate. It took all her strength to resist the driving urge to follow and recapture them inside her. She knew that there would be time soon enough. Prasutages reluctantly loosed his hold on her breast, with a final swirl of his tongue and a faint wet sound.

"Forgive me Lady. I forgot myself," Prasutages panted, almost beyond speech.

"Such is the touch of Cernunnos, and soon we will both be in his embrace," the Lady sighed.

She smiled beneath lowered lashes as he eased his hold on her, moving his hands slowly up to her waist. The pressure of muscle against muscle as her legs uncoiled and slid down his legs brought renewed tides of gasping pleasure, threatening to drag them both back beneath the waves of passion. She quickly stepped back, stumbling, weak-kneed least she betray herself and her duty, only to have his hand catch hers. A knowing look passed between them, before they turned to walk together to the center of the field. Hand in hand they strolled, like drunken lovers, neither wanting to completely release their hold on the other, neither able to walk alone on water weak legs.

Together they staggered to the great bonfire pile and its surrounding ceremonial space which had been prepared for them. They paused before its great looming silhouetted presence, and breathed deeply of the sweet scented dried woods. The five sacred tree of the land were piled high in an aromatic tower of rowan, elder, willow, hazel and oak. They smelled the rich loam of the fresh turned earth and the elusive fragrance of early blooming flowers. All the scents of spring and ancient rites blended together in a bouquet of renewal that awakened memories of lives gone by.

The couple stood lost in each other and the moment, as they waited, feeling the crowd gather at the edge of the field. Waitingwaiting. A moment or an eternity, waiting for the moon to rise, full, pregnant and shining above the trees. A moment of anticipation meant to be savored. Just as they savored the closeness and the power that filled them, waiting to be channeled, waiting to be released.

The Lady loosed her hold on the King and stepped back two paces to face him in thick unrelenting darkness. She noted the way the shadows cut his face into inhuman planes of light and dark, shrouding his face and form in mystery, while swirling night crowned him in many-tined antlers. Ah yes indeed Cernunnos had marked this one, there could be no doubt. The Lady took a deep breath to steady her passion and voice before she began the oath of kingmaking.

"People of the Iceni. Is this man before me, named Prasutages, the one you have chosen to be your king in times of peace and times of war?" The Lady called out in a clear resonate voice.

The crowd answered with a roar of approval that echoed out across the valley, catching in the wind to be carried to the farthest reaches of the Iceni lands and beyond. She waited patiently for the acclaim to die down before continuing.

"Prasutages who would be king of the Iceni, will you freely give oath to all the people of the Iceni?" the Lady asked.

"I will give my oath," he called out in his best battle-trained voice.

"Prasutages who would be king of the lands of the Iceni, will you freely give oath to the land itself and all the ancient ones who are a part of the land?"

"I will give my oath," he called back.

"Prasutages who would be king of the Iceni and the lands of the Iceni, what oaths do you offer?" she asked

"I give my oath to offer my life to my people and my land should it be required of me. I give my oath to offer the highest honor and my finest hospitality to all guests welcomed in my hall whether they be Druid, Bard, messenger, trader or traveler. I offer to enforce guest peace, even if I myself must be a weapon's sheath," he called out stiffly, as he tried to recall all the oaths he must give.

The visiting clans erupted in cheers and good-natured calls for hospitality contests. The Lady smiled as Prasutages paused for the din to die down. She knew that even though a kingmaking was a serious event, the exuberant Celtae people were only solemn in times of great tragedy or heavily repressed tension. It boded well for his future relations with neighbors and allies.

"I give my oath to maintain the status of myself and my people, by aiding in the payment of kin-tithe, when needed, from my own stores," Prasutages continued once the din had died down.

Now the Iceni raised their voices in cheers and lewd suggestions on the repayment of debts. On and on Prasutages' oath went, covering all aspects of a king's duties, rights and responsibilities. Some were answered with cheers and yelled commentary from the crowd. Sometimes the calls were to approve his oaths. Sometimes they came as a test his inner mettle in the face of mockery, his ability to remain neutral and strong of will and conviction.

"So do I give my oath to the people of the Iceni, the land of the Iceni, and all the ancient ones of the lands of the Iceni," he concluded, meeting the eyes of the Lady unflinchingly to show her the truth of his words.

"I give oath that his words are true," the Lady called to the gathering. "People of the Iceni, you have heard his oaths, you have tested his character, you know his strengths and weaknesses. People of the Iceni is this man before me, named Prasutages, the one you still choose to be your king in times of peace and times of war?"
The roar of acclaim thundered even louder than before, joined as it was by the throats of the visiting clans and unseen tribes. It filled the air with triumph and shook the very ground under their feet with its potent power. The cries slowly quieted and the stomping feet stilled, until an unearthly silence filled the void of sound. A hush of anticipation. The quiet held breaths of expectation.

Into this void the Lady's voice cracked like thunder, "Prasutages, Iceni King, what do you give your people this auspicious night?"

Prasutages knelt before the woodpile and carefully used flint and iron to spark the dried winter hay that had been set as tinder for him. The fire caught, but he waited for it to bloom, licking up against the lowest twigs, catching, holding, burning, before he turned to face the crowds.

Raising his voice to be heard throughout the gathering Prasutages sang loud and clear,
"I warm this land with fire
Fire of forge, fire of hall, fire of hearth
Need fire of warmth and light
Need fire lit fresh this auspicious night"
The crowd sang back to him, "With fire the powers make," over and over again as young boys, on the verge of manhood, ran forward with prepared torches. The boys lit the torches off the bonfire, and ran in sunwise spirals out and out until they circled the field with light. They stood in a flickering circle unwinded, charged by the gods, fueled by the fire, waiting for the King's order.
As soon as they had all circled the field the King sang out to the torch bearers,
"Warm this land with fire
Light the forge, light the hall, light the hearth
Light the fires of warmth and light
Light the fires fresh this auspicious night
The boys were as leaping embers, urged on by the calls of the crowd. They raced away, shooting off in all directions from the field of the Sacred Marriage, charged with relighting all the fires in the lands of the Iceni, from fens to sea. The boys quickly disappeared into the darkness. Their fiery torches streaking through the night like shooting stars fallen to earth.
The King bent to pick up the bowl of dried incense that waited near his feet, and threw great handfuls of the mixture into the leaping flames. The crowd watched the cloud of aromatic smoke billow out to spin and swirl up into the sky, as the incense popped and flared with eerie flashes of blue and green in the fire's depths. The smoke carried the scent of the deep woods and the open glade. It carried the scent that stirs the inner brain and awakens the inner senses to spring and rut.
As he breathed deeply of the mind awakening herbs the King sang out,
"I scent this land with incensed air
Fragrant breath of clan and tribe both ancient and new
Breath of the seasons, breath of life
Shared breath joined this auspicious night."

Adolescent girls, too young to attend the spring fires, ran forward to surround the blazing bonfire. Each maiden picked up one of the bowls of incense that encircled it. With great care the King lit each of the girl's bowls with a rowan twig pulled from the fire. He waited to be sure each bowl billowed plumes of fragrant smoke before moving on to the next maiden.

Once all the bowls were lit and the King had returned to his starting point, the crowd began singing, "With air the powers take." Over and over they sang the words as the girls made a slow dignified procession spiraling sunwise out of the field.

The field quickly filled with a low-lying aromatic cloud of incense that enveloped participants and onlookers alike in its misty spell. Once all of their number had completed their spiraling path and once again circled the field the girls placed the still smoking bowls at their feet. Their duty done the maidens ran and skipped back to the town, arm in arm, knowing they were too young for what was to come next.

The King waited for the maidens to vanish into the night before he continued with the ceremony. And once he was sure they were gone he knelt to pick up a large silver-chased bowl, almost a cauldron, filled with the clear clean water of the goddess Arnamentia's spring. With great care Prasutages raised the cauldron high above his head to catch the moonlight as he slowly regained his feet, cautious not to spill an ill-omened drop. Once this tricky maneuver was completed he tucked the great bowl against his side, like a child, and began to pace sunwise around the bonfire.

Prasutages dipped his fingers into the water and flicking it outward in all directions as he walked. As he paced around the flames he sang the top of his untrained voice,
"I cleanse this land with water
Water of welcome, water of parting
Water of sea, river and nourishing rain
Water cleansing all this auspicious night"

The crowd sang back, "With water the powers flow." They sang the refrain over and over again as the men on the edge of the field fanned out to evenly encircle the cleared ritual field.

With the men all in position the king traded the bowl for a deer antlered hoe. A tool ancient before the Celtae had come to the islands. Again he moved sunwise about the fire, turning the soil with quick sure twists of the antlered tines as he walked.

His voice had become hoarse with its unaccustomed singing, yet he sang out to the best of his ability,
"I plough the earth of the land
Land of field and forest, Land of tor and fen
Land of abundance from which all things grow
I plough the land this auspicious night"

The crowd sang, "With earth the powers grow." The words rang out again and again as the women fanned out to join the men encircling the field.
From this stream of movement, thirteen young women, of marriageable age, danced forward to attend the Lady and the King. Priestesses of the moons, they had been chosen for this one sacred occasion, adorned only in their loose flowing hair and crowns of flower wreaths, their skin shone silver in the moonlight. The naked, nymph-like, moon maidens danced out to surround the couple in a loose semi-circle, like the circle of the year.

The Lady stretched her arms out wide and sang, "Bless this land with abundant harvest of all things good to eat, grain and herb, fruit and nut."
Three of the moonnymphs stepped forward to unbind the Lady's hair so that it flowing loose and long as a maidens. This done the maidens unclasped the Lady's golden belt of leaves and flowers. Together the moonnymphs joined hands to hold the Lady's belt high above their heads for all to see as they cried out in unison, "The Lady blesses this land with plenty."

The King opened his arms wide, mirroring the Lady's stance, and called for all to hear, "Bless this land with abundant game to fill our tables and fill our bellies, deer and boar, fish and bird."

Three more of the women stepped forward to remove the king's belt and boots. Once again the trio of maidens joined hands to hold the articles on high before crying out to the crowd, "The Lord blesses this land with plenty."

The Lady and King joined voices to intone together, "Bless this land with abundant wealth, growing herds, growing families, growing trade, growing allies."
The remaining moonnymphs stepped forward to remove the clothing of the entranced couple, splitting evenly between the pair. The women gently slipped off the Lady's over-robe, leaving only the thin ripped shift that slid to the ground of its own accord, as she lowered her arms. Without shame the Lady stood naked, of all but her jewelry, before the gathering. She revealed all the strong beautiful magnificence of the Land and the chosen of the Land to the King and the crowd.
Long shapely legs, strong and toned from endless travels, stretched from delicate shapely ankles to full rounded hips. Sleek muscles and healthy rounded curves flowed from hips to small tapered waist to firm full breasts. Breasts dipped in silver rose, with nipples erect in the cool air, swayed gently with her movements and her breath, which had quickened in anticipation. Her creamy smooth skin caught the golds and reds of the flames, glowing and alive with dancing movement, even though she remained still. Hers was a body made for full life filled with the joys of war, home, and children. Hers was a body made for loving.
At the same time, the nymphs gently drew off the king's trews, releasing his stiffened manhood that rose straight and proud before him. It arched toward the sky and arched toward the Lady, pulsing with vitality, fertility, throbbing with need.

The maidens carefully laid the garments away from the couple and the fire before filing between the pair. One by one each maiden gently touched both of the Lady's breasts in turn and then the staff of the king, which jerked and leaped at their feather soft touches, before returning to the gathered circle. The moon priestesses know in their inner selves that this night they would be granted a merry-begot, and the ability to wed as fertile pregnant brides. Such was the strength of the magic that flowed between the Lord and the Lady, that no matter what man gave them a child it would still be a son or daughter of the Great Rite.

The Lady and the King barely noticed the nymph's curious reverent fingers or even their departure. The Green Lady and the Horned Lord only knew each other. Their eyes locked together as they were once again drawn into the spiral of creation. They did not hear the song that rang out across the field from the joined voices of the crowd. But they felt it tighten the magical net around them.

"Here where sword and cauldron unite
Witnessed by this auspicious night
Land and sky join as one
Lady and Lord join as one
Plough the land and plant the seed
Plough the land and plant the seed"

The cry of the crowd grew louder and more frenzied, "Plough the land and plant the seed!" Their shouts of passion became shouts of hunger as they cried out for the Sacred Union.

The Horned Lord stepped forward to gently lay the Green Lady down upon the land. She felt his firm and insistent hands grip her arm and slide across the small of her back. His strong calloused hands burned trails of exquisite fire across her skin, searing, calling, awakening her passion. She felt the soft earth beneath her, cushioning, cradling, embracing, soft and welcoming like her body. She was the earth, tilled and ready, desiring the plough.

The Lord crouched over her, stretching out her arms, wide and submissive beneath his touch. He pressed his upper body against her, rubbing small circles in her upturned palms with his thumbs. His fingers traced lines of singing pleasure up the inner sides of her arms, up to her neck his fingers danced, stroking, marking, treasuring every inch of the journey. Quick soft flicks of his tongue followed the path of his hands, tasting and savoring her skin, her surrender, her hold over him. The tip of his tongue traced a spiral at the hollow of her throat as the backs of his hands slid down her sides, sending shivers of ecstasy through her body. Moans, half-gasped entreaties escaped her, urging him on, begging fulfillment, wanting the moment and the sensations flooding her to stretch forever.

He slowly slid his head down, nibbling, licking small spirals, to her breasts. With reverent adoration he took each into his mouth in turn, sucking, gently biting, eliciting crashing waves of the sweetest agony in her. The Horned Lord savored the hills and valleys of the earth, of the Lady, as he continued to move down her body. His attentions moved across her woman-soft belly, exploring all her dips and hollows. With gentle force he pinned her to the ground, as she began thrashing in uncontrollable rapture. He held his body away from hers as her hips arched up to find him, welcome him, pleading for him to fill her.

His hands moved down across her hips, thumbs outstretched brushing against the soft silky, damp hair of her gate. He felt the beating of her blood through the thin skin. He savored the throbbing waves that rippled within her. His hands spread out to press her firmly to the ground as she called out, lost in the climatic ecstasy that tore relentlessly through her.

She was beyond words by the time he slid his hands together across the tops of her legs. She jerked beneath him as his thumbs slid down into the delicious canyon between her thighs.

He felt the slick wetness that slid warm and inviting beneath his fingers as he gently parted her legs, spreading them wide, to gaze more fully on the soft folds of her inner secrets. With great reverence he bent his head to taste of her. The barest tip of his tongue flicking across her throbbing cleft. A breath of air. The feather soft circling of her gate's key. He felt her throb against him. But that was not enough. Again he flicked his tongue against her, urging her on until she exploded against him. She was finally and truly ready. He could feel her final surrender to him. The surrender of the Maiden to the Green Man.

With a great spasm that arched through her body from crown to heel, the Lady screamed out "Plant the seed!"

The power of the land filled her, overflowed her. The power of the earth exploded out in a blinding light that was the deep green of emeralds and the lush green of leaves. It filled the field with the source of creation, the call of life. She was the lay lines, crossing the lands, joining all together with the ancient one's roads. She was the sea rising and falling to the rhythms of the moon. She was the ice advancing and retreating throughout the ages. She was the mountains' pushing up to soaring heights only to be worn down by wind and rain. She was the river flowing, tumbling from spring to sea. She was the deep bedrock that supports all. She was the rich soil from which all things spring. She was the history of the land and its people. She was the land.

The Lord entered her with a savage thrust. A piercing pleasure that rolled through her and rumbled through the earth. She was pinned beneath his golden spear, pierced by it. As his rod and his power stretched up beyond the sky. The power of the sky and creation surged through him deep into the Lady, deep into the Earth. The Lady arched up to meet his strokes, joining her might to his. She felt his withdrawal, his entry, the ecstasy of their union. As their bodies joined in the oldest dance, where the balance of male and female became the ultimate pleasure.

The flow of power moved through them and into the earth, filing and renewing, awakening and creating. A rapturous thundering wave rose up, to crash against them both, through them, more exquisite and more powerful than any before, as the power and their bodies joined in climax. Screams of agonizing ecstasy ripped from both their throats as the power of the Sacred Marriage was released. Power rippled out from them, like water from a stone dropped in its depths, rushing out from the union of Earth and Sky, Chaos and Order joined in creation, new from the old, life from life.

All across the Iceni lands children were scooped up in dream's embrace, falling into happy dreams of play and games in the Summerlands, protected in their innocence, protected in their youth. Too young to understand, their unready minds instinctively sought joys that they could understand. Mares neighed invitations as they suddenly went into season. Stallions screamed challenges as they fought for herd rights. Women encircling the sacred field reached out to the men nearest them, pulling them down to the ground, caught in the call of rejuvenation, the call of new life and the need to create. As all the lands of the Iceni and all the crowd around the field were caught up in the magic of the Sacred Marriage.

Many a merrybegot would result from this night, increasing the strength of the clans. A joyous gift in a time when the lady's blessing would cover the land, giving them the ability to raise healthy children.

The power released its hold on the Lord and the Lady, flowing back into the earth and into the air, having already filled the lands of the Iceni with vitality, fertility and good fortune. The pair was left exhausted yet renewed. They laid entwined in each others arms, no longer the Horned God and the Green Lady, only man and woman, Prasutages and Boudicca.

Prasutages gently he eased his weight off Boudicca, adjusting himself to recline beside her with his arm still cushioning her head. He pulled her overdress across the both of them, reassuring and normal. A simple act that joined them in a way even the powerful union of the Sacred Marriage could not.

Prasutages felt the soil beneath him and the woman beside him with a new appreciation and a new understanding. A slight smile creased his face as he listened to the sounds of others joined in their own celebrations of life and creation. Together Prasutages and Boudicca gazed up at the stars. With silent gestures they traced the outlines of the spirits and heroes frozen forever in night's net, at peace with each other. With no need for empty conversation.

The couple unconsciously snuggled closer together, unwilling to truly separate. They took comfort in each other even as their breathing slowed and the sweat on their bodies began drying in the warm air. Even though they were no longer caught in Cernunnos' charm, the draw between them still remained. It had been muted by the release of the ceremony but it was still there, strong and insistent. A fierce attraction that was more than lust and could not be quenched by a single bedding. It was a oneness with one another that transcended the embodiment of the Lord and Lady that had filled them.

"Is it always like this?" Prasutages finally asked, awed by what he had experienced.

"For you I do not know, for you can only be made king once. For me…it was more than I have experienced before," Boudicca sighed, savoring the sound of his deep voice rumbling against her ear.

"When you marry you will still be called on to make kings?" Prasutages asked curiously.

"It is who I am. I will continue to make kings until I am too old to be fertile. By then another will be born and trained to take my place," Boudicca replied, yawning in weariness.

"Marry me Boudicca," Prasutages whispered, as if reluctant to break the spell of the moment but unable to hold back the words.

"You would be willing to share me with all other kings?" she queried, honestly intrigued by his offer.

"It is who you are," was his simple unaffected reply.

"But first I would need to stay with you long enough to get with child," Boudicca mused. "But if I was called away during that time to another kingmaking, would you worry that you might raise another man's child to be your heir?"

"Any child of my wife is a child of mine," Prasutages answered without hesitation. "I may be forced in an alliance with the Romans but that does not mean I intend to follow their ways. Besides, your rank is higher than mine. Any child of ours would be judged on you, his or her mother, not on me. The actual siring of any of our children does not matter. After all I will be the father who raises them. All that matters is that you become Queen at my side."

With lazy sated fingers, Prasutages traced a line down her body until his hand rested possessively on her belly. "Besides, you will carry a child from this night. Once you begin to show will you marry me then?" he said with confidence.

"We shall see, we shall see," was her murmured reply as sleep claimed her.

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