Ciaran Mac Rory PAX ROMANA, Part III Prydain .......... It is some time after your parting before you meet an immortal again. The year following the defeat of the Silures, Allus Plautius slows the expansion of Roman rule, instead concentrating on the territory already secured (which is nearly half of Prydain), and fortifying it. The Roman forts and garrisons are completed, and you spend some time travelling Prydain to see just how the invaders are organized. There are four of the armies the Romans call Legions now stationed permanently in Prydain. Each one has over 6,000 men. Though the number of Cymric warriors is far greater than the number of invaders, the Romans are united, and disciplined. If every tribe could somehow be mobilized at once, and sent in the same direction, the Romans would be washed out to sea within a week....but it's as likely that the Romans will simply abandon their conquering ways and go home as it is that a thousand clans might all agree to follow one leader. However, this is not to say that Prydain is now peaceful, or that you have no opportunity to keep your hand in the fighting. Indeed, two years later, Plautius retires and leaves Prydain, during a lull. Most of the tribes have been behaving themselves. This seems an opportune time to test the Romans' control over the lands they have conquered. With winter coming on, and a new governor who won't be familiar with his suboordinates, and the conducting of a campaign in Britain, the Silures and Ordovices decide to rise up again. Joined by the Cornovii and some clans of the Brigantes, the Celts begin raiding Roman territory. The new governor, Publius Ostorius Scapula, proves to be a dangerous man to trifle with. Despite his newness, he launches an immediate offensive which drives the raiding tribes back to their territories in disarray. He razes several towns, annihilates entire clans in a few instances, and then turns on the Celts within his jurisdiction. The order comes from the Governor that all subjugated natives are to turn in their weapons. No Celt may carry arms unless approved by the local Praefectus. Needless to say, this is an outrage to Celtic sensibilities. Even King Prasutagus is unable to keep his own tribe from rebelling, and the Iceni lead an uprising that is quickly and brutally suppressed. Scapula then moves into Gwynedd, and delivers retribution to the Deceangli, who continued raiding Roman territory and try to defeat the Legions with hit-and-run ambushes. In this they fail; the Deceangli are bloodily suppressed. Scapula then turns on the Brigantes. Having seen what happened to other tribes that failed to surrender quickly enough, the Brigantes are intimidated into submission. Scapula crucifies some of the clan heads, and lets the rest go after collecting their weapons. The Silures, however, are a persistent thorn in the Romans' side. The great chieftain Caractacus remains among them, charismatic and persuasive, if still a King with no throne and no subjects. With support from the Druids, however, he is the focus of Celtic resistance, and he sends emissaries throughout Prydain, trying to rally support for an organized rebellion. Prasutagus and Boadicea receive his messengers at the Iceni court, but turn him down. (Boadicea has a daughter now, and is pregnant with another child that the druids say will also be a girl.) Other Kings and Queens similarly listen to Caractacus's pleas, but few are willing to risk the wrath of the Legions, having seen the inevitable consequences of defiance. Nonetheless, when Publius Scapula initiates a heavy buildup at the Severn river, with the obvious intent of moving to crush the Silures once and for all, Caractacus takes the field, leading the admiring Silures in what turns out to be a long chase. Caractacus moves into Powys, chased by the XXth Legion Valerius, searching for the best ground to make his stand. He picks up some support from the Ordovices when he enters their territory, and finally settles in to face off against Scapula. It is a terrible battle, and the Celts acquit themselves well, but the Romans win again. Caractacus is sent fleeing, while the Romans capture his wife and his brothers. The exiled son of the Catavellauni king seeks refuge among the Brigantes. Sadly, Cartimunda, a Queen of great reknown (and great infamy, depending on who you ask), now makes certain a rumor that had been floating about for years...that she is in bed with the Romans. (Literally as well as figuratively, according to some sources, but considering those sorts of rumors are inevitable about an unpopular woman, they probably shouldn't be taken too seriously.) No sooner does Caractacus arrive in Cartimunda's court, than she has him arrested and turned over to the Romans. The noble Caractacus, who will be remembered long by the Cymri of Prydain, is taken to Rome in chains with his family, to be featured in a triumphal procession for the governor, Publius Scapula, and never seen again. (History will record that, when brought before the Emperor Claudius, Caractacus stood as proudly as if he were addressing an equal, and proceeded to curse the Roman emperor before his court. Rather than taking offense, Claudius was impressed by the noble bearing and the courage of this "defeated barbarian", and gave him his freedom, though not the freedom to return to Britain. Caractacus lived out his days in comfortable retirement in Italy.) Publius Scapula returns to Britain after taking his trophy to the Emperor, and sadly, sees no point in letting the people he has suppressed know about the honor done to their peer, so the story of Caractacus' bittersweet last days is a tale that won't be heard in Britain for many generations. Scapula dies not long thereafter, to be replaced by two unremarkable men in quick succession, both of whom succumb to druidic curses. At least, that is the story spread by the druids, and the Celts believe it....and so do many of the Romans. Regardless of what arcane arts the druids may really have, they are proving quite effective at an art that has been well-known in every land, since ancient times...the art of propoganda. Whenever something goes wrong for the Romans, it is blamed on the druids. The druids take credit for bad weather, for crop failures in Roman-pacified agricultural areas, for personal tragedies among Roman citizens....a legend is even spreading among the Romans that the druids, conspiring with their brethren on the continent, drove Claudius' predecessor mad. This campaign may be doing a wonderful job of making the Romans uneasy, and fearful of "barbarian magic", but it may prove to be the druids' undoing. Upon the death of the second Roman Governor, Quintus Veranius, yet another Governor is sent to the Roman "province" of Britain.....Gaius Suetonius Paullinus. Suetonius Paullinus is a veteran of successful campaigns in North Africa. He is a stern military man, with no tolerance for barbarians, no flexibility when it comes to imposing harsh Roman rule. The unrest he finds in his new appointment appals him. He sets about studying the "British problem", and soon comes to a conclusion: The druids are the source of unrest. They terrorize the population (much of the native population is becoming quite thoroughly Romanized) with their tales of dark magic and curses, and appeals to ancient gods, and they harbor rebels and criminals and anti-Roman malcontents of every stripe at their great college on the island of Ynys Môn, which the Romans call Mona Insula. And perhaps, Paullinus also believes in the power of the druids more than he will admit publically, and has no desire to suffer the same fate as his predecessors. Thus, rumors are flying that the Legions will soon be marching on the druidic college, when King Prasutagus dies. Prasutagus was an old man. He may not have been a great man, but he was certainly a wise king. From the beginning, his tribesmen wanted to fight the invaders; Prasutagus knew that they had no hope of winning. He managed to keep the Iceni from being ravaged by the Romans, as so many less compliant tribes had been. The Iceni chafed under the humiliating terms of submission to Roman rule...yet they enjoyed a degree of wealth and independence much greater than they could have hoped for, had they gone to war against the Romans and lost. He was not much admired, for bending to the Roman yoke. The sentiment, if not the saying, "Better to die on your feet than to live on your knees", is an old one, not unique to the Celts. But a reasonable person could only conclude that he made the best of a bad situation. And anyone who knew them, could not doubt that whatever disagreements Boudicea may have had with her husband, she will miss him. And what are the immortals of Prydain doing during this time? You know that Tanethlon has gone to Ynys Môn. He may not have rejoined the druidic order, but he is certainly a respected person there. Now and then, a bard or a druid from that part of Prydain will bring you a greeting from the ancient scholar, and a standing invitation to come visit. A few of them even speak casually about your true nature....it seems there are those among the druids who regard you neither as Sidhe, nor as gods, but are simply aware of what you are...immortals. Among the Cymru, this is not a difficult thing to accept. You don't see Scathach for years, but then she suddenly appears without warning, to say hello and tell you a little of what she's been doing the last decade or so...mostly training warriors among those tribes who haven't lost their eagerness to harry the Romans. "I was hoping I might find another fledgling among the Cymru," she says regretfully, "but no luck so far." Scathach has heard a few rumors that let her make an educated guess about Synhyfar's activities. She was in the thick of the Silures' last campaign, and was so outraged by Cartimunda's betrayal that she actually went into the land of the Brigantes with the intent of assassinating the Roman-allied queen. "She did not succeed, obviously.....I think Cartimunda may have an immortal in her court. I'm not sure who it would be....I doubt Nodán would take an interest in her, Brude would never ally with a Cymru, and Tanethlon is with the druids, of course. Rhian would never be content in a role suboordinate to another woman. Possibly Ieuan. Or maybe even Achilleus, if he's still in Prydain." Scathach shrugs. "Or someone we don't know at all." Of all those others Scathach mentioned, you hear nothing else. Except your gut tells you that Achilleus is indeed still in Prydain. You don't know how you know it, but you do. Then there is the Morrigan, of course....always present, always watching. She never makes her presence felt, but as with Achilleus, you know that even if she is still in far-away Eiriu, she is watching the bloodshed in Prydain with an eager eye. And Ciaran MacRory? He has had fifteen years to wander, learn, and prepare for whatever the gods have in store for him next.... <><><><><> "Achilleus is still in Prydain...." His voice was low and soft. He smiled absently as he looked to the horizon. The view from the barren hill afforded them both with a view of much of the countryside. Ciaran watched, as the years passed, how the lnads of the Iceni slowly developed with the steady and persistent influence of the Romans. Ciaran knew that even he had changed in these past fifteen years. He was much more fluent with their language, although he would always speak like a foreign Celt. He had studied their ways of war, and had fought against them in many battles. He had remained true to his own heritage, but he wasn't foolish enough to pass up the opportunity to learn from these people. He learned everything he could. Several trips to the Druid's Isle to visit his friend always left him wanting more, but more would have to wait. There was always things to be done in Prydain. And he would depart with some sorrow but it was what he knew must be done. He returned as often as he could. Ciaran had spent much of the last five years among the Iceni. It wasn't too far fetched to think that Cartimandua had an Immortal in her Court. After all, Boadicea had one in hers. Ciaran served as an advisor and information source for the Old Man and his formidable wife. He admired the shrewd mind of Prasutagus. He was practical and realistic. Ciaran also admired the Queen, for many reasons, and the two of them had become friends. But as long as the Old Man was alive, Ciaran never made an overture to Boadicea. Respect and Trust and Honor. But he was dead now. And many things would change. Boadicea would rule in the name of her daughters but she was a ruler of a different sort than her husband. She had a fire in her. And she had a keen mind for battle. And it was a thing Ciaran and she spent many hours discussing. But, there was only so much rebellion in people and the lesson taught to the Silures was not one that Ciaran wished upon anyone. The time wasn't right for a rebellion. He told her as much. There was too much to lose. It would be soon, but it would have to be precipitated by the Romans. They would have to make a mistake. And when they did, Ciaran knew that he would be there. He knew that Boadiccea would be there as well. But that was a time away from now. Today he stood on a hill with a friend and they looked down upon the Icenian town. it was propspering and growing and it owed much to the coming of the Romans and their civilization. Yet despite all the good that could be said, these people were Celts and they were not meant to be Romans. The wind cast about them unchecked. It was late in the year. Ciaran could not get free of the heavy chill that touched him deeply when he thought about Achilleus. It was cold, but this chill was altogether different. He wrapped the cloak tightly about him. The very cloak he had begun wearing so that he could conceal the fact that he carried a sword. "I don't know where.... but he's here... I can feel it." Ciaran returned his attention to his mentor and a mischievous smile creased his features. "Morrigan watches too." <><><><><> [GM] Scathach looks skeptical, at your insistence that Achilleus is still here. She snorts at your mention of Morrigan. "Of course. She's always watching. I notice you're no longer afraid to say her name," she comments wryly. "Anyway, you carry on, then. It looks the Romans will be assaulting Ynys Môn, and I think I'll see if I can stir up some raids and other harrassment behind them. The druids are promising to unleash forces that will make the Romans rue the day they set foot on Prydain. I'm beginning to wonder if they're starting to believe their own fairy tales too deeply." She shrugs. "Personally, I doubt the druids can hold their island against the Legions, if Suetonius Paullinus really does press the attack. I hope Tanethlon knows enough to flee if he has to." <><><><><> It was obvious to the Eiru Celt that Scathach didn't understand the things he felt. Yes, she would know Morrigan was watching. Scathach was as much a slave to the woman as Ciaran was and the mysticism surrounding the woman was a hard bond to break. But Ciaran *knew* that she was watching and he turned towards the north and west. The wind was chill and it cut through Ciaran. His hair was loose and free and the wind played it across his face. He offered the Morrigan a smile. **No, I'm not Scathach** She told him of her plans and what she expected the Romans to do. It sounded like a sensible course of action for them and for her. As for the Druids, who knew what they thought or knew. And to try and guess what they might do, one would be wiser off trying to sneak up on Scathach. He turned and walked down the slope of the hill towards the town. He didn't look back at his mentor. "Tanethelon didn't live this long by not knowing when to get out," he said into the wind. Beneath the cloak his hand fell to the pommel of Medb's sword. He walked in silence, listening to the wind and the beat of his own heart as he walked to Caistor. More than fifty summers had passed, and still the woman child haunted his thoughts and memories. *I miss you mo Ghrá..... I will forever. Go deo.* <><><><><> [GM] Scathach disappears to the east, continuing her guerilla war (a term that will not be used for many centuries, of course, but a concept which certainly predates Rome.) In the court of Queen Boudicea, the will of King Prasutagus is read aloud by one of the several Roman functionaries who have been semi- official members of the Iceni court for years. And shock and consternation reigns. King Prasutagus made one more concession to the Romans, in the interests of preserving his people and his kingdom with as much integrity as possible. He left half his wealth to his daughters...and half to the Roman Emperor. By Boudicea's reaction, it is clear that Prasutagus did not share the details of this arrangement with his wife before he died. The logical part of your mind, the part that is becoming somewhat knowledgeable of politics, and Romans, can see why the old king might have done this. Despite the elaborate treaties and promises of cooperation and goodwill between the Romans and "allied" tribes like the Iceni, the fact remains that Roman Britain is the property of the Roman Emperor. He- or his designated representative, Governor Suetonius Paullinus- can take anything he wants. He can take everything. King Prasutagus made a pact with Rome, but whether the Romans will recognize that pact after his death is uncertain. This will (undoubtedly written with "help" from the Roman advisors, judging by their smug looks) may satisfy the Romans' demand for wealth and tribute....by voluntarily offering half of everything he had, Prasutagus must have hoped the Romans would choose not to take everything, and thus something would be left for his heirs. A cunning, calculated strategy, but a risky one. And worse, one undertaken without the counsel, much less the consent, of his wife. Nor were you privy to this secret will. It's times like this you wish you had more of Medb's cunning. This is the sort of intrigue she would have excelled at. And Boudicea could certainly use a ruthless, brilliant schemer like Medb on her side right now. The Iceni Queen is outraged. She sits on her throne as the will is read, and you see her fists clench until her palms bleed, and her jaw tightens until you fear it will break. "Get. Out." she hisses at the Romans. They look indignant, and puzzled, but a glance around the court, and seeing the reaction of a hundred angry Celtic warriors, they choose to withdraw while they still can, with a modicum of dignity, not to mention their heads, intact. Boudicea waits until her foreign "advisors" are gone, then stands upright with a scream of rage. She knocks over her heavy, carved wood throne with a backhand swing of her arm, which probably nearly broke her wrist, but she doesn't notice. "HUSBAND!!! YOU BESOTTED SON OF A WHORE!!! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?!!" She kicks the dog seated at her feet, and the poor hound leaps across the hall with a startled howl. "PRASUTAGUS, YOU PIG! YOU BASTARD! YOU SHRIVELED, WORTHLESS OLD MAN! BETRAYER! COWARD!!!" Boudicea rages about her court, smashing plates and jars, upending stools and tables, grabbing a spear and slashing at wall hangings, splitting baskets and jugs and nearly splitting a few heads as well, when her knights are not fast enough in scurrying out of her way. Everyone scatters before the Queen's wrath. Even her own daughters cower in the back of the room, hiding behind her overturned throne and watching their mother's unmatched fury with wide, frightened eyes. <><><><><> The dark Celt stood to the side and had kept in the background. His stony expression, unfathomable during the reading of the will, remained unchanged as his eyes followed the Queen. She stormed and raged and Ciaran knew that it was important for her to do so. She had to vent her emotions. But the Romans would be sending word of what they believed her reaction would be. They had seen enough. The Procurator might even make an appearance himself. Things would get worse for the Queen before they got better. She slipped around to where the throne was overturned and stood the chair upright. Slowly and calmly he moved. He then stood next to the chair and looked to Boadicea. "Queen," he said in a somber voice. It wouldn't likely even be loud enough to be heard by the nearest Celt over the din of her spent fury, and the murmurs of the court in attendance. His eyes followed her and his thoughts were focused. Now was the time for calm and rational thought. Medb's counsel would not be too terribly unwarranted at a time like this. "Queen Boadicea," he repeated softly. <><><><><> [GM] Boadicea ignores you at first, until her rage is spent. Finally, she throws her spear on the ground and stalks back to her throne, through the wreckage that is her banquet hall. She sinks into it and almost seems to collapse. One elbow leaning on the arm of the throne, she rests her forehead on her fist and growls "Go away. Everybody go away. You too, Ciaran." <><><><><> He nodded. This was as it should be. She needed time to think. If that meant that she do it alone, then so be it. He stood for a moment as the others began to exit the chamber. The tension was thick, and a pall hung over the Icenian Court. The Death of Prasutagus and the reading of the will had left them with many questions and great deal of uncertainty. "We will talk and plan... when you are ready," he whispered. He thought about offering her a reassuring touch, but he knew that would assuage nothing and perhaps do more harm to her mood. If that were even possible. He stepped back from her side and turned his attention to her daughters. Pushing back his hair with one hand, he smiled warmly at the two teenage girls as he walked towards them. He had watched them grow up into fine young women. Beautiful and proud and every bit as fiery as their mother. He spoke softly, but that wasn't unusual for the Ulaidan Celt. "Ladies, walk with me a spell.... and I shall tell you a story.... Your choice this time... Let us give your mother a moment to think and breathe in peace." He offered each of them a hand and led them from the chamber into the hall beyond and eventually to the outside. <><><><><> [GM] The girls- 15 and 12- follow you willingly. "What will happen now?" they ask, as you exit Boadicea's hall. Other warriors mill around nervously. You can see the Roman officials a ways off, making ready to mount up and probably ride away until they can return with enough soldiers to feel safe. The next party of Roman dignitaries to visit the Iceni court will probably be an armed delegation. Most of the Romans you've met are typically arrogant, condescending, and greedy. Their comrades, as they retire, are settling in Britain, and making free with the natives' land, their resources, their livestock, and their women. Those Legionaires still serving hope to reap the same benefits when they retire here, and so encourage their rapacious countrymen. Not *all* the Romans are so callous, however. Like all men, they come in good and bad varieties, though the Celts seem to see mostly the bad. At least one of the advisors recently driven from Boadicea's hall, and now preparing to leave, is a young, scholarly officer, who arrived here only last year, has not actually seen any combat against the Celts, and has given the impression of having some sympathy for the locals. He has actually learned some of the Cymric tongue- especially unusual since the Celts lately have been taking pains to learn Latin, giving the Romans even less reason to learn their language. He's not of a high enough rank to have much influence over what will happen next, but he may be your last opportunity to converse with the Romans, before Boadicea must face the consequences of her temper. <><><><><> "I wish I knew, lasses," he says. "I wish I knew. Your mother is a proud woman with a voice and temper, and the Romans dinna' like that in women. Be careful to mind those words, if'n I find either of ye' are actin' any different than a true Celt woman... then I'll cuff you upside the ear." Ciaran teasingly made the cuffing motion to each of them at the same time and laughed. It lasted only a moment before his mood settled. "The Romans will leave but they will take back a report of your Mother's words and actions at the readin' of yer Fah'er's will. The Romans will be back, and I fear it will be a dark day." Then Ciaran caught sight of the young Roman officer he had spoken with before. The man was a decent fellow with a keen interest in learning, and he had a fair mind to treat people with respect so long as they were decent in return. "I need to have a word or two with a man... You two run along to the grove, I'll be along shortly... We'll have a story or two, until your Mother cools off, or dinner is called... whichever comes first." Ciaran's voice dropped to a whisper. "And be sure to get your knives... don't be wandering around without a blade... not until we know it's safe... keep em out of sight though... Aye?" ......... Once the ladies had slipped away, Ciaran shifted his cloak and walked towards the Roman officials. he held his head up and looked for the young officer that he knew might hear him out. When he approached, he courteously stopped with several yards of distance and waited to be acknowledged. When he spoke, he did so in his Celtic accented Latin "Good sir, I seek but a small moment of your time... a few words and I beg your attention in the hopes that we can avoid a grave situation getting worse... I would then bid you leave to attend your business." <><><><><> [GM] The other Romans tense as you approach, and scowl at you, but the junior Centurion that you can't quite call a friend, but at least a friendly acquaintance, says "It's all right, Cisco," and walks over to meet you. He even holds out his hand, Celtic fashion, a little self-consciously. "Hello Ciaran," he says in Cymric. Then shakes his head and chuckles ruefully. He switches to Latin. "I was going to say you talk like a Pharisee, but I can hardly criticize, considering how pitifully I speak your tongue." You have no idea what a Pharisee is, of course, so you don't know how grave an insult that might be, but you doubt Marcus Celeus meant any serious offense. <><><><><> At the use of the term Pharisee, Ciaran arches an eyebrow quizzically but smiles. He knew a good natured ribbing when he heard it, even if he didn't understand what it meant. "We both learn... and do the best that we can with what we have." Ciaran's expression darkened slightly but not in a hostile manner. It had been several years since he spoke at great length save for the telling of stories to close friends. He had taken heed of Scathach's teasing about his tendency to ramble years ago. But today was different. He needed his words now. The Romans were oft times fond of those who spoke with intellect and insight. Ciaran could only hope to make a weak attempt, but he had to try. "Marcus, this marks the beginning of a dark time. We both know it. We are both foreignors in this land, but we are both smart enough to see past our own arrogances to know that this thing will only get worse. For all of us." He paused briefly. The Latin was slow when he tried to articulate complicated ideas. Ciaran had to think through the things he wanted to say. "I can not speak for the Queen or her Court. I am just a friend and a man who is given leave to voice his opinion in their presence, and you know that, but I ask that you offer a few words for this report that your group must make in Camulodunum on her behalf. On behalf of the children of Iceni, who shall suffer the worst should this continue in the direction I see coming. Temper those who would seek to turn this unfortunate outburst, during a most trying time, into a chance to flex the muscle of the Legions. She is an emotional woman at the best of times, but the death of her husband has unsettled her. Her pride is as much a valued gift among us, as it can be a dangerous thing when we are among people of a different culture. Or when they are among us." "You know how Seutonius will respond to this, if it is not handled properly.... And then there is Decianus. No insult to you or anyone here, but I do not trust him as an individual in the least. He has no honor. They will react and exact a grim price and then what happens next... The storm clouds are gathering." "My piece is finished Marcus. I thank you for the time you have given me to speak. May your Gods guide you and watch over you. Safe travel then... Aye?" <><><><><> [GM] Marcus grimaces. "Suetonius is harsh, but not completely unreasonable. He won't like the Queen's reaction, but he could still be talked into a moderate response, if he's convinced that it will be more productive than a violent one." "But he's off in the east, err...dealing with your druids. Decanius..." Marcus grimaces again. "No, I wouldn't be too optimistic about his taking this well," he admits, the closest he'll come to agreeing with you about the meanness and corruptibility of the Procurato. "We can only hope that the Emperor agrees with the terms of Prasutagus' will, and doesn't give Decanius too much leeway for interpretation." That speaks plainly, that the Romans see the king's will as nothing more than a suggestion, or a request from a subjugated chieftain, not a legal document with any real authority. Despite the fact that Romans undoubtedly helped the king write it. And you've heard tales of their new Emperor, Nero. It's said that some of the new officials coming over to Britain accepted, even requested, the posting because they felt it was safer in a semi-pacified, barbarian hinterland than back in Rome. Dark times indeed. Marcus sighs and nods. "I hope we worry overmuch, and that I may return so you can teach me to play gwyddbwyll. Farewell, Ciaran." He and his companions mount up, and ride south, towards Camolodunum. <><><><><> "Until that day then Marcus...." Ciaran turned and walked away from the Romans. He had said what he thought needed to be said and he hoped that it would be heard in camulodunum. He knew Marcus would do his best to keep peace, but Decianus was neither kind nor forgiving. Seutonius was far to the West. Ciaran sighed as he walked. His thoughts drifted to that of Tanethelon. He hoped his friend was well and safe. But there was much to do and much to prepare here in the East and Ciaran knew he couldn't afford to travel now. The Queen needed him... whether she knew it or not. Ciaran made his way through the village that was the capital of the Icenians. The Queen's Rath stood silent on the hill, looming like an angry sentinel. He passed through the town and made for the eastern trail that would take him to the small glen where he expected the girls to be waiting. A faint smile came to him as he remembered the first trip to the small stream with the girls. They were very young. Ciaran was more like a friend. A big brother. A *much* older brother. He remembered many things about these past fifteen years. He had returned to Iceni just after the birth of the oldest daughter. He had also taken the responsibility of schooling them on the arts of war. Their father was simply too advanced in years by the time they were old enough to hold a sword. But Ciaran was a friend of the man and took to the duties without a word to embarass the man before his clan. Ciaran always made a point to have the girls demonstrate and practice some in a place where their father could watch. It was a pleasure to him to see the pride in the older man's face. And the girl's were so eager to please their father. Ciaran felt something else. He felt a longing that he knew he could never satisfy. he could never be a father to children of his own. And that was a sad thought for him. He loved children. This might very well be the closest he would ever come. He continued down the trail, deeper into the woods. The glen was settled by the side of a small stream and well hidden. Ciaran's thoughts drifted back to the here and now and his mind began to consider the plans for battle and rebellion. The Icenians in particular were noted for their horsemanship. Prasutagus was a man of a forward thinking nature, he had spent the last five years of his life dramtically increasing the number of horses in Icenian Stables. He used much of the loose wealth of his kingdom to purchase the beasts and hire on the trainers and breakers. Perhaps he saw that this day would come. He had tried to make it an easy transition through his will, but just in case... his wife would have a ready supply of mounts for an army. Very few officers in the Legions were trained to ride horses. The Romans simply did not use horses to the same degree as the Celts. The Romans didn't see the same value in the animals that the Celts did. Those that were trained were generally very good soldiers, and their units were considered elite. Ciaran made a note to remember that. Ciaran entered the glen and scanned the area for the girls. They would have heard him coming, he made no attempts to sneak up on them. Today was not a day for lessons. All the same, they would be hidden until they could be sure that they were safe. He had taught them well. Maybe today was a day that they tested him. And a mischievous smile formed. *We'll see about that.* <><><><><> [GM] Boadicea's daughters do like to flirt with you, and they do like learning to hold spears and swords. Though they have some of their mother's fiery spirit, however, they will never be warriors like her. Prasutagus doted on them too much, and even Boadicea is perhaps a bit too protective, has allowed them to be too sheltered. This day, however, if there is any testing to be done, it won't come from them. For as you approach the clearing where the girls should be waiting for you, you sense that someone else is waiting there too. Another immortal. <><><><><> The Quickening. His hand fell to the sword and pulled it cleanly from the depths of the cloak. His draw was quick and practiced. His free hand pushed the cloak back over his shoulder as he reached to tear away the brooch and clasp. The presense of an Immortal in this place could only mean that his girls were at risk. It was a preternatural sense to him and he focused on the sensation. His senses were fully alert and his body ready to react. He searched the glen with scanning eyes. He listened for any sound that did not belong. A rustle of leaves of a branch. Even the quiet would tell him something. "I am Ciaran MacRory....." <><><><><> [GM] You hear one of the girls giggling, then the eldest emerges from behind a bower. "Of course you are, silly!" She looks at your hand on your sword, and her eyes widen slightly. "My goodness, you're serious today!" Her younger sister comes out also, along with a stranger. The man wears the seven-colored cloak and tonsure of a bard. He appears a few years older than your apparent age, and rather plain in appearance. He is holding a small wooden harp, but a sword hangs at his side, a short one, but still unusual for a bard to carry. The older girl turns back to the newcomer and says, "Uh, we just met, uh, Camlan...he was telling us how he's just come from the Sacred Grove to the west...." her voice drifts off as she sees how the two of you are scrutinizing each other. "I am Camlan," the other immortal says, nodding. "I came looking for you, in fact, Ciaran MacRory. Tanethlon sends his regards." He maintains a passive expression, but seems a little nervous. <><><><><> Ciaran gestured, with a sweep of his hand, for the girls to come over and stand behind him. His eyes returned to the man named Camlan. Cold and fixed was his expression as he studied the Immortal. He kept the sword at the ready. Finally he arced the sword around in a maneuver that was more for show than anything practical and he lowered the tip of the blade. His expression softened some, but not much. "You have come, when anyone could have delivered his regards. What news from Tanethelon... and why have you sought me out?" <><><><><> [GM] Camlan smiles tightly. "No, of course I did not come just to deliver his regards. There is a reason he sent me, and not another who might not have found you so easily and would not understand some of the things we must speak of." He makes no move as you usher the girls to safety. "I came not to do harm to anyone, Ciaran MacRory. I will pay my respects to Queen Boadicea, then if it pleases you, may we speak in private later?" <><><><><> "That you will do so, is expected. It would demonstrate a lack of respect and honor were you not to offer your presence before the Queen in her lands. We shall speak later... in private." "You should lead the way Camlan." Ciaran then turned to the girls and nodded and made a gesture to the trail. He never let Camlan out of his sight. "It is late now... and we must return before your mother grows worrisome. Not to mention, I am feeling the pangs of hunger. Take your sister's hand. Let's go now." Ciaran preceded the girls down the trail towards the Queen's Rath but kept them close to him. His attention was near fully fixed on Camlan ahead of him. <><><><><> [GM] Boadicea is, if not in a better mood, at least a calmer one. And her throneroom no longer looks like it was hit by a storm; her slaves have quietly picked up the pieces, uprighted chairs, and straightened things out so it's fit to receive guests again. Camlan presents himself, first to her chief bard, as is the custom, and then to the Queen. Boadicea expresses mild interest when she learns he's from Ynys Môn, and asks how they fare there, but she's clearly distracted, and speaks with the bard only as long as etiquette requires, before politely dismissing him and withdrawing to her own chambers, with her daughters. "Thank you for watching them, Ciaran," she says as they depart. She leaves unsaid the fact that she will want to speak to you later; you know each other well enough to know this is the case, and that she will probably say something to make amends for her temper- though not an apology. Boadicea never apologizes. Once the formalities are out of the way, Camlan turns to you, and walks with you out of the rath. Out of earshot of any mortals, he says "I just came on the girls in that grove by chance, I certainly didn't intend to appear threatening." "Camlan is my real name, and Tanethlon has been my teacher for the last ten years....only five of which have been as an immortal." "He sent me to you, because he cannot leave Ynys Môn. If the Romans take it, he will die there. So the omens said." <><><><><> He acknowledged the Queen's recognition of him with a simple nod. She didn't ever have to ask him to watch her children. To protect them from harm. It was an honor to do that service. A pleasure moreso. He watched as she and the girls withdrew from the Court Hall. Outside he listened to Camlan. "I don't believe in co-incidences Camlan, but I'll accept you at your word. For your sake, I hope that I never feel that you are a threat to those children." He paused as he walked and said nothing while he turned into the wind, bundling his cloak about him to stave off the chill air. "Troubling times face us all... You are young and I hope that Tanethelon prepared you well enough to survive. Ten years in training... five as an Immortal... Perhaps enough, but your mentor has given you leave, and obviously you won't be returning to him." "You have given me much to think about... The man is my friend, one of the closest I have... But I don't agree with his decision. And I am here, an advisor to the Queen, and there is much before her now, and she will need me. Two places that I must be..." He let his words trail off. Finally he spoke again. "Who is the Immortal among the Romans with Seutonius... Achilleus or another? <><><><><> [GM] "Hmmm. I said chance, not coincidence," is Camlan's reply. A distinction that may be of significance only to a druid in training. He turns towards you, and despite his apparent youth, seems to oddly gain confidence in the face of your suspicion. "At some point, you also were a fledgling. I suppose we all have to survive that early stage, and the patronization of our elders, before we get to be old and wise like Tanethlon." He smiles wanly. "You misunderstand me, though. I haven't actually gotten to what Tanethlon sent me to ask you. He doesn't want you to come to Ynys Môn; your presence there isn't likely to change the outcome." "There is an even graver threat, to both Prydain and Eriu." He looks at you seriously. "There may or may not be a Roman immortal with Seutonius, but it's not Achilleus. That one has been busy elsewhere." "A fortnight ago, he went across the sea, to Eriu. He has stolen the Lia Fail from Tara. And if he is not stopped, he will take it back to Rome." <><><><><> The Stone of Destiny. The very thought of one of the four great treasures of the Tuatha DeDanaan falling into the hands of an enemy like the Romans was unthinkable. Moreover, in the hands of a Roman Immortal. To what end? To the Romans, the Lia Fail would be nothing more than a stone... an artifact of a barbarian culture... But what if Achilleus had learned that there was something more. There was only one course of action. "Then he will be stopped. Tell me that you know something of the route he will travel to secret the Stone to Rome. Tell me that you can set me in the right direction.... Or show the way yourself." <><><><><> [GM] "I know something of the route he will travel," Camlan says. "The druids cast omens to predict his actions. It seems we immortals are easier to auger." "He has gone far to the north, past Bregeda, almost to Alba. Why, I do not know. Certainly he cannot plan to go directly to the continent from there. But we also know he no longer answers to the Roman governor. He does not serve in the Legions. If he is answerable to anyone, it is someone not in Prydain. But the druids were positive of his eventual destination. He means to take the Lia Fail to Rome." <><><><><> "That is what he thinks he will do.... He is wrong." Ciaran considered the situation for a long time as he stood beyond the earthen rampart walls with Camlan. He looked at the huts that were growing more numerous and more Roman with each passing year. He remembered what Caistor, or Venta Icenorum as the Romans called it, looked like when he first arrived 15 years ago. So much had changed. The small village that the Rath protected was becoming a town. In another 15 years, Caistor might look like the more southern towns that the Romans were poring their coin into. Londinium for example, was growing very quickly. The Celtic way of life was dying in Prydain. The people were becoming spoiled by the comforts and peace that the Romans brought with their conquest. The rewards for peace were very tantalizing, but the price meant a way of life gone forever. And now the Romans thought to steal from Eire one of the greatest treasures of their heritage. No this was no Roman plot, for few outside of Eire even knew of the existence of the Lia Fail. And Achilleus was an Immortal and his plans for such a thing were beyond Ciaran's ability to understand. He couldn't trouble himself with the motivations of Achilleus right now. What was important was the fact that he had the Stone. No small feat that either. Who guided him and why? Ciaran felt that another Imortal was at work. Achilleus had met another and allied himself. Another thought... why to the north of Bregeda and the Brigantes. Achilleus was a Roman, and even though he wasn't allied with them at this time... he could still have a safer passage through those lands.... No, he was going through the North... because most of the Immortals in prydain were well to the South. Ciaran knew he had to set out soon... this very night in fact. A dark thought crept into the back of his mind and he entertained it for the briefest of moments. Morrigan watched... this he felt. And it became all the more logical when he told himself that this whole thing would be just the game that she would play. Manipulation and subterfuge... and it would bring to Immortals together in conflict. The Druids read the signs and omens, and Camlan was sent to Ciaran. For Ciaran knew what the Tia Fail was and how important it was to the Eire Celts. The thought that Morrigan might indeed be the one behind this did not surprise him. The fact that she might be manipulating him into hunting Achilleus to get the stone was no surprise either. He should have suspected that there was trouble on the horizon when he glimpsed inside his Quickening and felt both her and Achilleus. It all made sense, and it allowed Ciaran to lump all the unknown and unfathomable questions into one category. The category that said that he would only get a headache if he tried to outthink Morrigan. "Camlan... You have done well and are a credit to your mentor's name. I would be honored to have you ride with me. I leave this night for the Northlands of the Selgovae and the Vortadini." He turned back towards the Rath. His step was purposeful and his expression was set. He spoke as he walked. "The Queen will not be pleased... I will speak with her and explain the importance of this in the best way that I can. She will either understand or she will not. But there is little else I can do here and, until the Romans make their next move, there is little she can do but wait. It could be weeks or months coming and winter is still upon us. They will not move troops until the firsts whispers of Spring." "Seutonius is wintered in preparation for his march on Ynys Mon. Catus Decianus will be the executor of any decisions concerning the Iceni and the Queen's public fit of pique. I would hope to be returned by then... Achilleus will not wait nor will he be casual about this trip across the Northlands." <><><><><> [GM] Camlan nods in taciturn acceptance, both of your praise and your offer to let him accompany you. He walks with you back to the Queen's Rath, but waits without as you go inside to speak to Boadicea. One of her handmaidens, a pleasant girl with whom you've enjoyed casual affairs from time to time, goes to Boadicea's chambers to let her know you seek an audience. Shortly she returns, and ushers you inside. Boadicea is sitting on a stool in the small room she uses to greet personal friends in a more intimate environment than her royal hall. She straightens her hair with a silver comb, an heirloom she brought with her from her own clan, to the north. Two more of her handmaidens are seated next to her. "Well, you have patiently waited for my temper to wane," she says calmly. "Before you say it, I know that it was a foolish thing to do, and now I will probably have trouble with the Romans. And I know that Prasutagus undoubtedly thought he was doing what was best for our daughters and our people." She sets down the comb and sighs. "I needed the luxury of hating him, for at least a little while. Now I can put that aside, and get down to the matter at hand. So, what advice do you have for me, old friend?" That provokes a moment of speculation as she looks at you. You have been in her court, off and on, for fifteen years now. <><><><><> "Old friend indeed," he said with a chuckle. "My advice... you know everything that I might say. You know the Romans will not take kindly to the way you spoke to them, or what you said. You know the ignorance that they live in with regard to women. To them, you would never be a suitable ruler, nor would your daughters. They will take a time and speak among themselves and they will return... My guess is to take at least half of everything... if not more. I can only guess at what else they might do, but I feel that they will come with orders to *remind* Prydain that it has been conquered. Seutonius is in the west and wintered their with troops. Come the spring, he will march on the Druids... Catus Decianus will receive his orders from Seutonius, and perhaps even Rome will tell him how to proceed. The will has been read, and now we wait." He paused for a long moment. This was the most he had spoken for some time. He lifted a mug and drank from it. Setting the mug back down, he looked at her and smiled wanly. "But we must prepare... Whatever their decisions... it will not favor us... it never does. Weapons must be readied and hidden. Chariots readied and secured. Your husband left you horses.... many horses. He knew what would happen when his will was read. He knew how you would react. He knew what the Romans would do then. Prasutagus was a smart man. And he gambled. His will was the only chance that he had of leaving anything for his family... but he wanted you to be capable of defending the lands should the Romans take everything." Ciaran finished the mug and looked into the bottom before continuing. When he looked up, he offered a troubled expression. "One last matter Boadicea. The bard Camlan has come from Ynys Mon as he has told you... but his visit was not one of social admiration. I would not pretend to lie to you and tell you otherwise. You are far too crafty for that. He brought with him a message from the Druids for me.... I have been quested by them. And it is a grave matter. A grave thing for all Prydain, and for Eire, my home." "There are things that I wish I could say, but I'm not sure I know how... for I lack understanding of them myself. Suffice to say, I am different... You know this already though. You can guess as your eyes tell you things that make little sense. With this difference there comes a responsibility... one I can't ignore. I must travel to the Northlands... I must leave tonight. The Stone of Destiny has been stolen from Tara in Eire, and it was a Roman... this roman means to take the Stone back to Rome. The Stone is a powerful thing, and in the wrong hands... great harm could be done. I may not survive this quest... But should I prevail... then I will make all haste to return to your side. I hope and believe that I shall be back by the earliest of spring. The Romans are not likely to move their armies before then. I wish it were not necessary that I go, but I must." He reached out and took the Queen's hands in his own. "Know this... What you did before the Romans... while it wasn't the best of all things to do... It was the right thing. It was the thing in your heart, and that is what makes you the person you are for you are a person of character and honor. I respect that in a person more than anything. You were true to yourself and your people. The Romans fear you.... While they might say otherwise, and mock you for being a woman, as is their way.... They felt fear today... They do not understand and do not accept our ways. Man and woman are equal.. this they can not fathom. But you will prove to them differently. They will become very familiar with that feeling of fear." "I must take my leave to prepare. Give my love to the little ones, it is they I will miss the most. I now ask leave of you to retire from your Court... My Queen... my friend. Until I return..." <><><><><> [GM] "A quest?" Boadicea says. Her face seems hollow, as she looks at you. Chagrin, grief, even anger, flash in her eyes. But she bites back any remonstrations....she knows. This is something you must do. "I have only heard of the Stone of Destiny in a few old legends," she says. "It seems incredible the Romans have even gotten as far as near- mythical Tara." Near-mythical to the Prydaini....you remember it as a very mundane, though impressive, fortified site, much like those here, albeit much larger. You had never actually been inside the Rath Righ, the Court of Kings, nor seen the Lia Fail. But it would be an impressive feat indeed for one man, a foreigner, to sneak past the ramparts, the stone walls, and the guards, lift the heavy stone (said to be the size of a small bench), and walk out with it. The Queen sighs. "Go then. Sidhe take the druids and their quests!" She refrains from saying anything else, lest she say something she'll regret. <><><><><> He didn't want to leave. It was obvious that the Queen didn't want him to go. And yet it seemed unlikely that he would have much choice. He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. He gripped her hands tightly. "I will make it a promise to return as quickly as I can." *How can a man be in three places,* he said with asigh to himself as he left the personal quarters of the Queen. *Here in Iceni... Standing with Tanethelon... my friend... and also chasing this blasted stone.* He had more questions for Camlan, but they would wait for the ride. He walked outside to where the bard was waiting. "Time to go," he said in terse fashion. Once riding north he looked to Camlan. He casually studied the bard and took the measure of the man. He watched him to see how well he sat upon a horse. He watched how the man occupied himself with his own thoughts. Little things. He made no secret of the fact that he was watching him either. Finally he spoke. "Tell me Camlan... How does a Roman slip past many guards into Rath Righ, with it's stone walls and huge ramparts... to walk out with the Lia fail... a stone big enough to break a horse after a few miles... then take it across the water into Northern Prydain? Is there more to tell me?" <><><><><> [GM] Camlan speaks little. He seems to be accustomed to keeping his own counsel. Probably a loner by nature. He rides a horse well enough, but not as well as you, and not as well as a mortal who's been riding horses all his life. He wears the sword at his side like something he has become used to, but which has not yet become something he takes for granted. If he is a bard, he has been studying bardic lore for at least seven years. Longer if he was a bard before becoming immortal. Assuming he has in fact been immortal for five years, he's actually been alive for between thirty and forty years. As a mortal, he was probably known as a serious man, someone older than his years. Now, even more so, no doubt. The subtle signs are there, as you study him, that he is still living in his original span of years and immortality hasn't sunk in yet. He is a fledgling. But he is a conscientious, perhaps even fatalistic, fledgling. He must know that he himself would have virtually no chance against Achilleus, or any other hostile immortal you might meet. You see occasional uncertainty at the path before you, but no fear. "Certainly there is more to tell," he replies calmly, as if he was simply waiting for you to ask. "The Roman immortal didn't invade Tara alone. He came with a band of warriors. Cymric warriors. Mercenaries." "They struck quickly....killed the guards and were in and out before most of the defenders even realized they were under attack." Camlan purses his lips, staring straight ahead for a moment. "Probably there was a traitor in Tara who helped them. In any event, they made good their escape before the King could muster his knights to pursue them." "The mercenaries accompanying Achilleus were almost certainly Prydaini. They were not mere spearmen, either. They were elite warriors." Many conclusions can be drawn from that, but Camlan doesn't voice them. He simply rides on in silence....perhaps testing *you*. Or simply waiting for your next question. <><><><><> "Elite warriors willing to sell out the celtic heritage to a Roman... Unless Achilleus has gone native to convince them... and that means that his elite warriors might not know that he plans to take the stone all the way to Rome... idle speculation though." He rode on for a time, thinking of how he would proceed. He thought that he could come up from behind them and try to track them. Or he could try to anticipate the Roman's plans and intercept him somewhere. "Were there any reports from Tara? Like... How many Cymri were with Achilleus?" It was an important question that would help to decide his tactics of approach. He couldn't be certain what they would do to defend Achilleus or their stolen prize. They just might have to be taken out one by one. He had done that before, but he was the defender then, and not the aggressor. Later on in the ride, Ciaran called a break to rest and water the animals. It was well into the night hours and darkness consumed them. The moonlight and clear sky made the night air seem very chill. "Camlan," he began. "Did Tanethelon finish your training?" <><><><><> [GM] Camlan regards at you, and muses for a moment. "These warriors weren't mere mercenaries. I don't know how Achilleus enlisted their aid, but it seems unlikely he could have acquired them on his own. It may not be just a few rogue warriors who are betraying the Cymric people. Achilleus may be in league with a northern king." "The reports we got from Tara, sent us by the Ard Ri's druids, didn't contain an exact count of the invaders. More than a handful, certainly, but less than an army." That's a typical druidic answer. A warrior would have tried to get a more accurate count. He looks a little surprised at your last question. "Finished my training? Do we ever finish training? He taught me our history, the Rules, how to use a sword...." Camlan shrugs. "I'm sure there is more he would teach me. No doubt he will, should we both survive this episode." <><><><><> Ciaran said nothing for a long time. He made a small fire and warmed some water for them to drink and poured in a bit of mead honey and offered one of the mugs to Camlan. He stared into the flickering fire and felt the warmth on his face. Perhaps he would try to snare a rabbit or some such for a morning meal. For now, rationed supplies would have to do. Honey water and a hardtack biscuit. "Aye Camlan... I agree," he said finally. It had been some time since anyone had spoken and Ciaran didn't preface his statement to reference anything in particular that camlan had said. "What you say makes sense and fills in the missing pieces to a puzzle that I found of interest when Scathach first mentioned it. But he has taken up with a Northern King..... A northern Queen mayhaps... Cartimandua. She was said to have an immortal in her court as an advisor, and that whore bitch is bedded to the Romans. There is the connection. And that is where we shall travel to next."