Kindred Spirit Lodge Presents
New Direction on an Old Road
by Nessa
May/June 2004
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The forest was alive with buzzes and bird trills. Nessa sat on the ground, her back against the large trunk of an old oak. Sometimes she felt like the forest was all she could really trust. There was no escape in sleep these days. Memory made a stand and would not move away. The warrior knew what she had to live with. Why was she plagued so by her own thoughts now?
Nessa rolled her wild-haired head back and let it rest against the gnarled trunk. She chose to spend most of the Spring-time riding Tuttle and walking the mountain trails. She wrapped herself in the aloneness she understood. Nessa felt there was little to trust in the people of this world where cruelty sprang from the hearts of those most close. Killian never meant that Nessa should suffer. The warrior was sure of that. Perhaps it was because of that sureness that she now allowed herself the memory of deliberate betrayals. The pain, pounded within her. The Celt closed her eyes in quiet homage to the Goddess of memory and entered a silent plea. She did not know if it was sleep that took her or if her petition for an answer was heard.
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In her mind, Nessa was back in her younger days as a newly trained warrior and Druid. The Druid training was chosen for her by Aife, the great teacher of horsewomen and Warrior Queen of the Scottish Isle of Shadow. Warrior status was much more exciting and fitting for Nessa. Still, Aife insisted that the young Celt needed the teachings of the Druids to maintain a balance in her skills. Aife was legendary as invulnerable to everything but fast horses and horsewomen. A smile touched the sleeping Celt’s lips as she recalled the pleasures of being taken in Aife’s bed.
But war drew Nessa and Aife knew it. She sent the strapping young warrior to Brigantes, the largest tribe in Brittania where Cartimandua ruled as Queen and resisted the pressing forces of the Romans. The Queen’s Gaelic name, Cartimandua meant “sleek pony” for she too was trained by Aife.
It was not long before Nessa’s ferocity and skill in battle was noticed by the Queen who summoned the young warrior to her. Cartimandua was drawn by the dark sexuality of this one and was soon finding her face in the pillow while being brutally fucked in her own tender ass. This was after a sound strapping of her behind to ready them both for further pleasure and pain.
Nessa knew that Cartimandua was not to be owned and she did not try it. Theirs was but a trivial affair while all-important battles were planned and fought and won, for the most part. Still, Nessa felt a closeness she thought of as love in a way only those who faced death each day could know it. It was also quite the most wonderful thing to her that she could return from battle in that haze brought on by the fighting and was able to storm the Queen with the rage of it.
Nessa was stunned when the incredible Queen Boudicca of the Iceni was refused her request that the Brigantes join forces with her against the Romans. The young warrior watched the proud Boudicca turn from where Cartimandua sat in the Queen’s hall. Boudicca walked with a straight back and never cast a glance toward the ground. Later, in the Queen’s bed chambers, Nessa challenged Cartimandua. “Why, Cart? The Iceni are a proud and noble tribe. They fight the enemy with valor and never give up.”
“They are in my way. That Queen of theirs is too power-hungry. Once you share it, more and more is wanted.”
“What? They are Celts with their own lands. Together we could crush the Roman forces.” Nessa said. But a bitter shadow crossed over the face of the Queen and Nessa knew she spoke outside her place. Just then, the Queen’s handmaiden came in. She carried a basin filled with fresh water and towels draped over an arm. Nessa held her tongue while the lass put these things down and asked the Queen if there was anything else she could do for her.
Cart shifted her angry gaze from Nessa to the young woman. The girl’s name was Morgan. Her services came as a gift from Caracticus, a rebel from a neighboring tribe, who also wanted an alliance with the Queen. Cart accepted the gift but held Caracticus at bay with the promise to consider an alliance. Meanwhile, Morgan served the Queen well. In fact she became as close to this Queen as any ever had. The two shared confidences and laughter and other things known to friends. Morgan’s love for Cartimandua was built on trust and what she thought was mutual caring. But these were misconceptions in the extreme. Queen Cartimandua actually hated Morgan for the trust the young handmaiden felt and gave with unchallenged love, even after numerous cruelties.
“Yes” answered the Queen, “there is something more you can do.” Cart lifted a corner of her mouth in a sneer and said, “I want you to strip for me and my warrior.” She turned to the astonished Nessa and said, “Get the strap, warrior. Whip her hard and long. I need entertainment.” Cart moved to the pile of furs on her bed and sat to watch the now trembling Morgan bare her sweet young body.
Nessa was not sure if this was something she wanted. She always saw a different side to Cart. It seemed that lately, the Queen was secretive and withdrawn. What was she thinking? But Nessa lost the questioning and the worry when she saw the naked lass standing before her with head and eyes lowered in submission. Desire shot to the core of the young warrior and pulsed hot through her veins. This new thought of whipping this beauty and fucking her hard in front of Cart brought the basest sensations to new heights. Nessa walked to the edge of the room where the strap she used on Cart hung on it’s hook awaiting a new young and naked ass to welt.
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(Part 2) --
Morgan looked up from where she stood naked and shivering. She peered directly into the warrior’s steely gray eyes. There was not yet anything Morgan would not forgive of her Queen and dear friend. But that may be about to change if she was right about what was happening. Cartimandua was cruel on many levels but this, to the young Celtic tribeswoman, was without comprehension. To allow this red-haired, phallus-wearing warrior to whip and violate her in such a vile way spoke of distain… not love. Morgan quickly rallied the pride of Self that was taught to every Celt from birth. Her countenance changed from the look of a frightened deer to that of a wild, angry mare.
Nessa stopped her advance in mid-stride. Something dangerous emanated from the lass. A voice heard only by Nessa said, “Druid, stand down. This Queen is traitorous and she has made us both puppets. Look at us. She is playing as a cat plays with a captured mouse. Do you want to be a mouse, warrior?” Nessa remembered Boudicca and why the Celtic nation was fighting. Realizing that Cartimandua was somehow aligning with the Romans while her Celtic kin were dying, the warrior dropped the strap and drew her sword.
The Queen stood quickly when she saw Nessa’s action. “I said whip her, not kill her!” Apparently Cart was not aware of the exchange between the two women nor the change in them. It was not until Nessa turned and held the blade toward her that Cart understood. She shifted her gaze from Nessa to Morgan and back to Nessa. “You betray me?” she said incredulous.
“You betray me and every Celt living and dying.” Nessa countered. “Quickly” she said to Morgan, “get dressed and get horses. You will know mine. She will come at the mention of my name.”
Queen Cartimandua twisted her face in stifled rage and spat to Morgan, “Where do you think you will go, you sniveling little slave? Maybe you think your brother, Caracticus will protect you. I forgot to mention, Morgan… his head is propped on a Roman spear as we speak. He dances with the dead and you will join him for your impudence!”
Nessa heard the lass gasp in shock. They could not afford the time to grieve or argue. “She lies, Morgan, hurry!” she said. She heard the lass move. She had to rely on her senses because she dared not take her eyes from Cartimandua. Nessa held her sword close to the Queen’s breast.
“Why do you not kill me, dear warrior? Is it because you know I could make you mine and together we could rule under the protection of Rome? Don’t you see, Nessa? Rome will have it’s way one way or another. We can join them and prosper” Cart wheedled.
Nessa thought of something her Druid Master once said. There will be times, again and again, when you will struggle with the effort to understand people. Remember this: To understand, you must go where they are… not where you want them to be. The proud Celt saw who and what Cart was, at last. She felt pity but did not let go of the courage to do what she had to do. Even if she could not see herself killing the Queen she once followed she would be a renegade without a tribe in these lands.
Cart could not read the warrior’s face. “I could scream and all of my army would be here.”
“And you would lose your head before a sound escaped from your lying mouth” Nessa breathed. Suddenly the warrior moved her sword aside and wrapped her free arm around Cartimandua, drawing the surprised Queen in. Nessa kissed Cart long and hard then suddenly jammed the hilt of her sword into the base of the Queen’s head.
Cart’s body went limp in Nessa’s embrace. Nessa lowered the betrayer to the furs they once made love on. She adjusted the body of the unconscious woman to make her appear to be sleeping. “Goodbye” she whispered and left the chamber. Emotion stampeded through her. She was sad and she was enraged. She was hurt and she was afraid. The fear was for her people. She felt that Cart’s claim of the death of Morgan’s brother was more than likely a true one. The warrior stepped outside the Queen’s lodge into the bright sun. She grasped the arm of the Chief Warrior of the Brigantes who was preparing to enter the Queen’s lodge and said, “I’d not be goin’ in there just yet. The Queen is… restin’.” The younger warrior grinned broadly and winked. She watched understanding spread over the face of the Chief who chuckled and assented that it may be best to wait a while.
Morgan was mounted on a beautiful black mare. She saw Nessa talking to the Chief in low tones and held back before riding up with Nessa’s horse, Tuttle in tow. She wondered if the warrior killed Queen Cartimandua. The tribeswoman truly hoped not. She would wait to see if her brother, Caracticus lived. If she found that he died at the hands of the Romans through the betrayal of Cartimandua, she would fly on the wind to get back here and kill the Queen herself.
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(Part 3) --
Nessa kept as close behind Morgan as possible. The lass rode hard and seemed to know just where she was going. They reached the top of a rise when Morgan reined in quickly. Just down on the other side was a small encampment. Smoke swirled with the breeze. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Nessa realized from the look of stark horror on the lass’ face, that this was where her brother must have been camped. Caracticus was not unknown among Cartimandua’s ranks. He was respected as a loyal Celt and a fierce fighter.
Together the two riders cantered into the encampment. It was horrible. In the center, surrounded by burned out tents and fallen debris, was a pile of burnt human flesh and bones. Just in front of the heinous collection of charred human bodies was a spear sticking up from the earth with the head of Caracticus mounted on it’s blade. The face was contorted as if agony was the last known experience. Morgan stared at the hideous thing for only a moment before she let go of a keening wail that nearly lifted Nessa right off her saddle.
Nessa dismounted and pulled Morgan off the horse and into her arms. “Alright, lass I am here with ye.” The warrior said in a low voice. She knew the pain of this kind of loss. But more, she knew the rage at the betrayal and the betrayer. “We’ll not be letting this pass, Morgan. But for now we have to take care… of… the dead.” Nessa was grateful that Morgan allowed her to lead her to a thicket just beyond the burned out compound. “Stay here” she instructed as she lowered the bereaved young woman to the ground “I will take great care to prepare a proper pyre for your brother and the other loyal Celts. But the enemy is all around, lass. Cartimandua will know we came here. She will follow us. And her friends, the Romans will stand with her.”
“You did not kill her!” Morgan said suddenly, revealing her surprise at the welcome truth.
“No, I did not. Stay still now until I return.” Nessa turned away but stopped abruptly when stricken by the realization that leaving Morgan alone with this shock may be foolish. She turned back. Already Morgan was on her feet to flee toward Queen Cartimandua’s camp and slice the traitorous murderer down to her knees.
“Wait, lass!” Nessa yelled.
Morgan hesitated only a moment then spoke as she walked. “You can come to watch out for me while I kill her or you may run another way. I care not, warrior.”
Nessa liked the bravery of the lass but not the rashness. “The brave Caracticus would not have you die at the hands of the traitor queen, Morgan.” That stopped the grieving blaze of a woman for long enough. She turned back to face this young woman warrior. Nessa saw the immensity of Morgan’s pain. “It is enough that he died by her betrayal” she continued. “We must go to Queen Boudicca. She has force and she is loyal to the Celtic people. This betrayal will not sit well with her, lass but first she must know.”
There was no time now to bury nor properly burn Caracticus. Cartimandua and her warriors would be getting close. Nessa wondered if any of them even suspected betrayal from the queen they gave their loyalty to. Nessa’s own pain swelled up in her. The entire Brigantes tribe was fighting and dying in token to the Romans. Brave warriors were going down in bloody battle for a showing. Nessa remembered wondering more than once what reasoning Cart had for sending out such small patrols. But the young warrior was enamored of her charms. It was not for Nessa to question the Queen’s tactics. Meanwhile the Roman forces entered the land in secret.
Morgan allowed the sense of Nessa’s plan to filter through. She would have audience with Boudicca. Then she would do what her heart told her she must do. She walked to what were the recognizable remains of Caracticus and said, “You will be avenged, brother. I will go to my grave knowing that you are at last at peace. Our people will not die out. We will rise and rise again through the ages. I will see you next time around.”
The two women quickly mounted and spurred off toward the cover of the forest and in the direction of Boudicca’s people, the Iceni. They were out of sight before the angry Cartimandua brought her army down on the already destroyed encampment.
Cartimandua seethed in heated rage. “Find them!” she bellowed. “Don’t come back without them.”
The Chief Warrior, McFinn, dispersed parties of seven or eight warriors in every direction. He would go back to the Brigantes camp with the sullen Cartimandua. He did not know how to comfort her except to show his loyalty.
McFinn was appalled at the sight of this horrid treatment of Celtic people. But he did not question his Queen even after he witnessed her careless disregard of this slaughter while gazing all around for that red-headed fuck-piece of a woman warrior who ran away with the tribeswoman, Morgan. He could never quite see beyond the magnificence of Cartimandua. McFinn would see many more of his brave people die before he understood the treachery of this Queen.
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(Part 4) --
It was Morgan who knew the lay of this land. Nessa followed galloping behind through forest and over plain. Her own home stood on the island somewhere south of Britannia, some called Eire as green and fair as the emerald. All Nessa knew was that they were headed south toward Lutin where the Iceni dwelled in peace until the Romans came. Boudicca ruled supreme with the aid and advisory of Druids. She held her people together with her belief in them and her love of the race.
The young Celtic warrior, Nessa ached from the stab-wound of betrayal from Cartimandua. As the two horsewomen thundered onward, Nessa tried hard to wrap her mind around this first real blow to her faith in another. It would color all other loyalties with the tint of dark, brooding suspicion for a long time to come.
Grudgingly, the escaping duo stopped for no more than a short rest and a chance for their horses to drink from a stream that ran through the Avon Forest. Morgan dipped a cupped hand in the clear running stream and drank it down. She pulled the water-skin from her side and dunked it into the water for filling. All the while she felt the wondering gaze from Nessa who stood at the edge of the stream with the horses as they drank. “You have questions of me warrior?” Morgan asked without looking at Nessa, her hands and mind focused on the simple task of tying the water-skin to her belt.
“You spoke to my mind and your mouth never moved. Your voice called me ‘Druid’ yet, I never once spoke with you or any other in that company about my training on the Isle of Shadow. How did you know, Morgan?”
Now Morgan turned and stood to face the warrior. “I knew because the queen loved to talk about you while she was pleasuring herself with me in her bed. She said you came to her from the Isle of Shadow where she believed you were fully trained. Few warriors leave that island having come through the discipline of the Druids. Few are ‘fully trained’. It was simple. Besides, I watched you more than once divining the outcome on the eve before a battle.” Morgan said softly. She tossed her wild dark hair back and attempted to tame it with a strand of leather.
Nessa reached for the leather strand taking it from Morgan’s small, strong hand. “Let me braid your hair showing you as the warrior you are, Morgan.” Nessa stepped behind Morgan and quickly weaved the shiny black tresses together in the trade-mark braid of the Ancients. Then, turning the small, muscular woman around by her shoulders, she gazed into the powerful eyes of a Celtic Warrior Priestess and said, “Perhaps I would have understood more about what I was divining if I was not blinded by my hunger for the queen” Nessa said sadly.
Morgan’s demeanor softened. “None of us wanted to believe it, Nessa. Just look at the brave McFinn. He sends his warriors out in small parties to be slaughtered by the Romans every day on the orders of Cartimandua. Still he does this.” Morgan’s eyes seemed to shift in color from hazel to green. “In fact, there is one band of six approaching now. We must hurry!”
As much as Nessa hated to run from a battle, especially one she knew she could not lose while Morgan was at her side, she understood that these were not the enemy. They were Celts and honor-bound to their queen. Nessa would not kill her own kind unless it became impossible to do otherwise. Quickly, the pair leaped to their horses and sped into the stream. They rode upstream for a bit before turning onto the shore. It would slow anyone tracking them.
Together they rode as if carried on wings of wind. They reached the borders of the Iceni before the Sun settled behind the Earth. After speaking to the border guards of the death of Caracticus and his entire tribe, Morgan and Nessa were escorted through the territory of the Iceni to gain audience with Queen Boudicca.
They entered a large hut-like structure where they saw at least fifty warriors and people of high station sitting in a large half circle. In the center of the Ark, lifting a goblet to her lips was Boudicca, Warrior Queen of the Iceni. She stopped just short of drinking when she saw the two refugees enter. She leaned over to her side to hear the whisper of the Druid beside her. Suddenly, Boudicca stood up and raised her goblet to the pair. The room fell silent watching the queen.
“Iceni… I give you Morgan, sister of Caracticus. She is the last of her tribe to survive the treachery of the Romans.” Boudicca spoke softly to the younger woman before her. “We know of the treachery surrounding the death of your brother. We were peaceful tribes before the Romans came.
Morgan stood proud before the Iceni Queen and said. “Do you know how the Romans found him and every other small pocket of fighting Celts?”
“Tell us, Morgan”
“The queen of the Brigantes, Cartimandua, finds comfort and safety in the arms of the Roman armies while they slaughter her people… and all Celtic tribes. She has betrayed us all.” Morgan’s proud eyes filled with tears as she spoke.
Boudicca’s expressive face revealed her emotion but she kept her queenly composure long enough to turn to the Druid who sat beside her with horrified question in her eyes. The tattoo covering half his face told of his high rank among the priests of the Celts. He stood up after a moment of his spirit’s flight from the room and back again. Nessa and Morgan may have been the only two in the company to recognize the action.
He was known as Albion “the mountain” loved and respected among the Iceni. He peered into Nessa and asked, “She is vengeful toward you, young warrior, why?”
Nessa felt every eye in the large room on her. She felt ripped open by the question. The young lover of the traitor queen saw no way out but to answer.
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(Part 5) --
Nessa knew that Albion understood clearly why Cartimandua was seeking vengeance on her. He wanted to see how the younger Druid would handle the question. Nessa decided on the truth before it was a question. She stepped forward with shoulders straight and head high. “Cartimandua called me to her bed. She loves a rough hand and has desire for pain in sex. I pleasured her and myself many times by fucking her from behind. She seeks vengeance because I choose the lives of our people over her incessant screams for more.”
The silence of the room was marked by an almost palpable mass intake of this information. Beginning with a chuckle from Albion, laughter from the crowd rose to near deafening heights. Boudicca wiped tears of laughter from her face before raising a hand to demand silence. “Thank you for your… honesty and for your faithfulness to our people. Give us your name, warrior.”
Nessa stepped forward, drew her sword, held it toward Boudicca and proudly answered “I am Nessa from Eire, taught warfare and horse-skill by Aife from the Isle of Shadow.” She brought her fisted sword hilt to her heart and said “I give my sword to your service, Queen of the great Iceni.”
The queen smiled and said, “Nessa ‘the ungentle’, aptly named I would say. I accept your sword and your service, though not in the fashion of Cartimandua.” More laughter ensued. But then Boudicca spoke seriously. “This is not an easy task we have before us. We cannot allow the Romans to continue to spill Celtic blood, yet how do we pull her loyal ranks away?”
Morgan stepped forward. “May I offer a thought on the matter, Queen Boudicca?” The queen nodded her consent. Morgan said, “The tribes who follow Cartimandua are not all made up of warriors. They are farmers and children and mothers and sons and wives and husbands of warriors. They are left to contain the home-sites… the home-sites that burn at the hands of the Romans. These people can be spoken to without fear of treachery. They already suspect their queen’s betrayal. Get to them and bring them in, their warriors will follow.” Morgan’s rich voice resonated with both sound and meaning.
Boudicca turned her eyes to her advisor. Albion stood quietly for a moment. Sorrow for Morgan’s pain was replaced by respect for her reason. “She speaks wisely. We can send small emissaries to every village. If we can convince just a few, we will be saving many more” he said. His eyes never left those of the warrior woman, Morgan, whose spirit shined around her like a beacon from Avalon.
Boudicca dismissed the roomful of celebrants except for Cahan her Chief of Warriors, Albion, Morgan and Nessa. The five Celts all sat on fur-lined chairs in a circle appearing somehow odd but fierce with common loyalty and waited for Boudicca to speak. After a few moments she said, “If it is the common folk who must be convinced, it will be common folk who will convince them.” She looked at Nessa and Cahan and said, “You will go with Morgan. You must have your weapons hidden beneath the cloaks and furs of common dress except for the dagger that is a signature of every Celt from childhood. Pick several of our warriors to do the same. Speak with the eldest of whatever village you enter. Tell them who you are and why you are there. They must convince whomever they can to make haste to the lands of the Iceni.” The queen paused and set her gaze on Morgan. “Once the people disperse from the lands of Brigantes and come to us, the ranks of Cartimandua’s warriors will falter from their loyalty.” Boudicca’s eyes squinted slightly. “I knew when I saw her she did not love her own people. It is comfort and power she loves,” she said.
Albion spoke. “The alliance we desired from the Queen of the Brigantes will come from the Brigantes themselves while their queen languishes in Roman luxury. She will lose all of her own spirit while she gains riches. Already, her depravity eats her soul.” He looked at Nessa. “It is good that you are a Druid as well, Nessa the ungentle. Otherwise, you might have sunken into the same emptiness of spirit. Go now and do your duty to your new and true queen of Celts.”
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(Part 6) --
Cahan was a fierce warrior with the pride that went with it. It was easy to see how difficult it was for him to wear the plain clothes of the people after striving in battle to win his way to the place of Chief of Warriors to the Iceni. Nevertheless, Cahan rode forth as a farmer because his queen asked it of him. The feel of hard steel hidden under his ragged cloak was a comfort to him since Romans were plundering freely in Brigantes. How he would love to surprise a few of them.
Nessa was grateful that the Celtic women, unlike the Roman women, more often than not, wore breeches and plaid sashes across their chests. The foggy weather made cloaks suitable so that her sword, like Cahan’s and Morgan’s could be well hidden beneath them. Morgan was less opposed to a long, full skirt. Her fur boots held her best weapons, two daggers.
The three rode to the Brigantes border with four other parties of disguised warriors where they separated to seek out their designated villages. Each party was instructed to be as discreet as possible and to return swiftly. None were trained in this kind of warfare but all were aware of the reasoning. The Celts of Brigantes were being slaughtered little by little, village by village and their queen was part of it.
The first village that Morgan and her two companions entered seemed empty until Cahan spotted a child in a doorway, then a few people started to appear as it was apparent that the visitors were not Romans. An old woman with staff in hand hobbled to the side of Morgan’s horse. She looked up at Morgan “You are Fianna! You have come for us!” Nessa recognized the name, Fianna. It meant “warrior of the people” in the Ancient world. She was not surprised when Morgan jumped from her horse and hugged the old one. “Yes, old mother. Gather the people of your village and go to the Iceni border where you will be welcomed.” The old one kissed the hand of the mysterious Morgan and moved on to call her people together.
Village after village it was the same. The countrymen and women were in hiding, awaiting new raids and slaughter with no help from their own army. Some warriors walked away from Cartimandua’s ranks to return home in hope to help however they could. Apparently the queen’s army was dissolving and losing loyalty to her while she bedded the Roman aristocracy. This bitter disloyalty toward the traitorous queen proved all the better for Boudicca’s plan. They came to Iceni willingly and in force. Mountain border guards worked in astonishment as they passed out bread and dried meat to the hoards of refugees entering their land.
Cartimandua was sure it was the fault of Morgan and the warrior, Nessa, that her people and her own army were deserting her. When she sent her bands of warriors out to stop the exodus she lost those warriors too. These were the warriors who came to their own villages and found them burned, sacked and destroyed. If they found anyone alive, they heard the truth that the Romans came and killed at will while no Celtic warriors from Cartimandua were sent to protect them. These were the warriors who were sent to false fronts in small bands to die at the hands of the Roman army instead of protecting their own people. No wonder that they banded together and protected the line of refugees from the disgruntled Roman raiders who came to find easy booty and instead, found fierce death growing larger by the day.
Boudicca was overcome with joy at this display of loyalty to race. She ordered the Iceni to welcome the Brigantes in every way possible. Large lodges were built to house the incoming Celts of Brigantes. Small portions of lands and animals were given up so that planting grain and raising sheep could be easily done. The Iceni were gracious and in return, every man, woman and child who could fight the Roman enemy would do it. The Queen of the Iceni asked for loyalty so that they could crush the enemy. Within a season more than two thirds of the Brigantes became Iceni. Another neighboring tribe from the North known as the Trinovantes also joined the warrior Queen of the Iceni.
At last, Queen Boudicca had an army numbering over 100,000. Boudicca made no secret that her hatred of the Romans was due to the atrocities done, not only to the Celtic nations, but to her own family. First, when her husband, Prasutagus died suddenly, the Romans tried to over-take Iceni land. When the queen resisted, Roman soldiers were ordered to flog the queen and rape her two daughters, Comorra and Tasca in front of her. Yes, this was a queen out for vengeance and now she would have it.
Morgan understood that need for vengeance but somewhere within her she saw no wisdom in it. She was indeed a Fianna of the Ancients. This was only one body of so many that hosted her. Lifetime after lifetime she came and went and came again for so very long even she could hardly remember when she started. Celts were still wearing fur on their feet and covering their bodies with it. Stone was fashioned into weapons. They were nomadic and lived in caves. Now they drove chariots and forged steel to kill with. Now they built huts and lodges for inhabiting. Now they claimed little pieces of the Earth and went to war for their claims. The one saving grace as Morgan thought about it was their belief in the Goddess of all life and revering Her. Druidism kept the faith alive and led the people with wisdom. The Fianna’s thoughts were interrupted by one of the less wise but full-of-potential Druids, Nessa the ungentle.
“So quiet today, Morgan. The villages throughout the Iceni prepare for victory over the Romans and the traitorous Cartimandua. Your brother’s death will be avenged at last and you sit alone by the stream as if it all meant nothing” Nessa said softly. The warrior wanted Morgan. She never suggested anything but wanted her all the same.
“Oh, it means something” Morgan replied. “It means death and more death. But you are a warrior who loves battle as do all good Celts.” Morgan stood and faced the tall woman before her. “Tomorrow you will ride with the army to Comulodunum where you will slaughter every Roman in sight. None will be left alive. It will be a great victory and all your training on the Isle of Shadow will have meaning at last.” Morgan saw the warrior gaze across her body. She felt the lust pounding in that brave heart. “Why do you hesitate, Nessa? Will you not take me on the eve of such a battle?”
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(Part 7) --
Nessa was stunned. This one was an anomaly. At the warrior’s first sight of the woman, she appeared to be no more than a handmaiden to a lust-driven, power-hungry queen. Then she turned out to be sister to a great tribal chief and who could speak to Nessa’s mind. Next she was ready to strike Cartimandua to the ground in revenge and now spoke of death as if it were a weight carried through centuries. When the opportunity came to speak to Queen Boudicca, Morgan spoke with a wisdom that seemed beyond her age. Yet when they went to villages, the people referred to her as Fianna. Fianna was the persona of the warrior spirit who protects the people. Living through centuries in different bodies, meant she was wise and ancient.
Nessa did have to admit to herself that the body this Fianna chose was luscious. After weeks of watching her and working to make the Brigantes at home in the land of the Iceni, the young warrior had a hankering that lingered into her dreams at night. She woke up soaked in her breeches from the dreams she had of Morgan. Still, until this very moment, Morgan never gave one sign that Nessa was anyone more than a worker among workers. Now she was actually expecting the warrior to “take” her with all the desire she had built into a raging blaze.
Morgan lifted a hand up to cradle the side of Nessa’s face. The feel of it was like watching over the meadows of time, like home and smells of fresh baked bread, like celebration at the birth of a new clan child, all happiness and comfort. Nessa closed her eyes. She felt warm softness press against her while a small, powerful hand pulled her head down from the back of her neck. She felt Morgan’s breath hot in her ear. She heard the whispering invitation calling to her body and soul. Morgan moved away and walked toward her hut. Nessa followed like an enchanted child.
Once inside the hut, Nessa looked around. The simplicity was striking. She would have thought a woman this beautiful would be more vain and have personal things like jewelry and polished goblets. Then she heard the voice in her mind. “No, warrior, I learned long ago not to get caught in the trap of worshiping what one owns. I do have a simple chair, however. Please sit and watch while I remove my clothes for you.” Nessa sunk down onto the chair.
Morgan began a tapping of her feet on the floor. She twirled around and clapped her hands. Slowly she removed this and that as she danced and ancient dance of victory for the warrior she believed would help win this hideous war with the Romans. This was also a Druid as yet filled with untapped potential. She would see what potential she could help Nessa develop this night.
Morgan on the eve of battle… entertains Nessa.
Nessa watched mesmerized, while Morgan revealed more and more. When the dance was over, Morgan took her sword in both hands and thrust it downward burying it in the floor. She curled a hand around each cross hilt and bent over as far as she could. She spread her legs wide and waited.
The warrior lost control of a certain withheld anger at this display since Morgan knew Nessa wanted to give pain with sex. This felt like a slap. She stood up and walked slowly to the front of the naked and bent over woman. She spoke with contained fury while she slowly slid the belt from her breeches. “Morgan, you know what pleases me. Do you expect a simple hot fuck? No. If that is what you want you must stand now, dress and I will walk out from your hut.” Morgan did not move.
All at once the warrior Druid felt a hot pure wind rush through her. She dropped to her knees before the beautiful face and dangling breasts of the Ancient. Her heart filled with bliss and tears at what she saw in those intense eyes.
Morgan spoke softly. “You can do what you must to satisfy your need for giving pain. I will scream for you, my warrior and I will love you all the same.”
Again, Nessa was stricken by words spoken to her heart. “You love me?” she whispered.
“Always have I loved you, Nessa the ungentle. I know who you are and one day you will too. Whip me now my warrior. Invade my smallest opening. Hurt it, claim it and make me yours for just this night if never again.”
~~~~~~~~~
Nessa opened her eyes. The old Oak she lay against seemed to be cradling her. The words, “make me yours for just this night if never again” replayed in her mind. She had her way with Morgan that night. It was the most monumental experience of love she ever knew before or since, until Killian.
The battle in Brittania was victorious and many more were victorious until the Romans pulled out… at least for recouping. Morgan disappeared without a trace. No one found her body on any battlefield. Nessa tore through every hut and camp in search of the Fianna but to no avail. The fierce warrior lost her taste for battle in her grief and sailed here to this country where she found the Lodge.
Finally Nessa understood what it was about Killian that made her heart jump at the sight of the lass. Killian had some of the ancient spirit within her. The Druid knew that Killian was not a Fianna… yet. All this time, Nessa was trying to replace Morgan with the lass who had her own lover for life. The last vestige of anger and resentment toward the Trader lifted from where it festered in Nessa’s battered heart. She would go home to her Lodge clan now. She would heal and trust again. She whistled as she walked with her faithful horse, Tuttle, down the winding trail to the Lodge. “I wonder what is on for supper tonight” she said to no one in particular. Then, the voice she heard in her head so many years ago came again. “It is of the Earth, Druid. You will satisfy your hunger… always.”
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The End - 'New Direction on an Old Road' - by Nessa