B. Alexander Howerton by The Wyrding Stone Page A

terrible sight.  The women of the town have been hung from trees,
and the savage warriors are impaling them with their spears, up through their
genital areas and out of their mouths.  The screams tear at my soul.  I pray to
holy Melkart that such a fate has not been visited upon Melinca.  Then all is
black, and I know nothing more.
    A throbbing in my head and a ringing in my ears brings me to
consciousness again.  I have no idea how much time has passed, but it is now
dark.  The sounds of feasting and revelry fill the air.  I search for the
source of the celebration, and I see a great bonfire, surrounded by what must
be a large band of my captors.  Then, in the foreground, I notice some straight
vertical lines.  I bring them into focus, and discover I am entrapped in a
cage, made of stout branches.  I reach out and grab a branch, giving it a shake
to test its sturdiness.  It is quite firm.
    “You live!”
    I quickly turn over to see who has spoken behind me, but I
already recognize the voice.  My heart pounds with joy.  It is Melinca!  I
reach out and embrace her, which she welcomingly returns.
    “My dear girl, you are safe.  Are you hurt at all?”
    “No, only a few bruises.  And you?  I thought sure you would
pass away any moment, you were out so long.”
    “Where are we?” I ask, looking around.
    “This is the Iceni camp.  They are celebrating their
victory.”
    “I don’t see any other cages. Are there any other
survivors?”
    Melinca solemnly shakes her head.
    The gravity of the situation sinks upon me.  “Then… why have
we been allowed to live?”
    “I dread to even ponder it,” she says softly, burying her
face in my shoulder.
    I hold her close as I turn to observe the revelers.  I can
see concentric circles of the Iceni surrounding a huge bonfire.  There is a
smaller fire in front of it, over which, suspended from a tripod of long iron
rods, hangs a large, boiling cauldron.  Periodically a server approaches the
cauldron and uses a large ladle to scoop its contents into iron serving
pitchers, then distributes it into the bowls which the seated members of the
circle hold aloft.  To the side are huge kegs of wine, from which the
celebrants are liberally drinking.  A shock overcomes me as I recognize the kegs. 
They are from my shop! 
    The celebration carries on for some time.  The Iceni seem to
pay no heed to us.  I comfort Melinca as much as I am able.  We sit quietly
holding one another, watching the proceedings with dread and fascination. 
Eventually I notice a tightening in my stomach.  I realize I am quite
famished.  I wonder if we will ever be fed.
    Finally, a hush slowly descends upon the crowd, and they
slowly organize themselves into three seated concentric circles, apparently
ordered by rank, the highest in the center.   From the left, where a hole has
been left in the circles, a procession enters the enclosure.  A young girl
enters, dressed in an elaborate mutli-colored gown.  She holds aloft an object
that I cannot quite make out.  Following her is a tall, graceful woman, wrapped
in a large leather cloak, held together at the neck by a brooch.  Her wild
tawny hair shoots out in all directions, eventually to fall in long cascades to
her waist.  She carries herself with regal bearing, and the slowly crescendoing
chants of “Bou-di-cca!  Bou-di-cca!  Bou-di-cca!” leaves no doubt in my mind
whom I am beholding.  She is followed by three white-haired old men in white
robes, with beards reaching to their belted waists, carrying various
accoutrements for indecipherable purposes.  These must be the druids, of which
I have heard tell, and whose stronghold Suetonius had gone to destroy in the
north.
    They arrange themselves in front of the cauldron.  The girl
sets her object on the ground, and the queen sits cross-legged facing it, the
fire to her back.  She begins to sway and chant, and the old men mimic her
chant, throwing bit of material into the cauldron