The druids kept the people in harmony with the living world around them. They were the conduit to the other world, and as such advised the leaders of her people on important decisions, often determining the destiny of the whole tribe. But Gertrude was not seeking guidance for her people. This time, her dilemma was personal.
True, it was frowned upon to seek the druids' help in such matters, but Gertrude had done it before. Over the years, she had developed a relationship of sorts with one particular enchantress of the forest – one who had taken a particular interest in Gertrude, ever since she was a child.
"Sacred lady, forgive me, but I have come," she said, kneeling once she reached the familiar grove laced with the exposed trunks of a half dozen mammoth trees.
"You are welcome, child," a woman's voice replied from the shadows.
Several moments passed before a dark, hooded figure emerged, slowly extending bone-like hands that seemed to glow white in the faint light. The hands clasped Gertrude's shoulders like claws, but the touch was at the same time gentle. Gertrude looked up to see only the nose and mouth of an elderly woman, with the rest of the face hidden in shadow. They were the same features Gertrude had see many times before, on previous visits, but there was something different about the old, cloaked woman this time. This time, she seemed much feebler, as if she had aged ten years.
"Speak, my child," the druidess said in a wheezy voice, followed by a short cough.
"Sacred One, something troubles my heart and my thoughts. I have come for the solace you have provided so often in the past."
"These are troubled times, child."
Gertrude paused before saying, "Something has happened."
"You need say no more, my child. I know how the Romans mistreated you. The voice of the forest has told me. Have no fear. Their time is coming. They will not go unpunished."
The druidess had said it in the consoling tone of a mother to her daughter. In some ways, the sacred woman of the forest had been like a mother to her. Gertrude came here often to discuss the things that troubled any young maiden who was the daughter of a chieftain. Many of the tribe were afraid of the old woman, even the warriors, but the druidess had always been kind and affectionate to Gertrude. Still, not even Gertrude knew the mysterious woman's origins. No one did. The old woman was the seer for the Nervii and had been as long as Gertrude could remember. While Gertrude could recall several times in the past when the druidess had gone away for many months – some said to the south, some said to the foothills of the Alps – she had always come back to tend to the Nervii.
"That is not what troubles me, Sacred One," Gertrude said.
The hooded woman coughed several times. With each successive cough, her long nails dug further into Gertrude's shoulders, reawakening some of the bruises left by the two brutal Roman officers that had assaulted her.
"Tell me your thoughts, child," the woman finally said, after the coughing fit had passed.
"One of the Romans soldiers – a tall one with a scar on his face – was not like the others. He refused to harm me, though his officer ordered him to." Gertrude paused, trying to hide the emotion in her voice, for she had found herself dreaming of the Roman in recent days, and the dreams had been far from nightmares. "This Roman saved me, and I – "
"You can have no affections for our enemy!" The old woman snapped, as if reading her thoughts. "Have I not told you of the desolation that follows wherever their columns march? They bring death and fire. They bring the slave's shackles for the necks of our people. Rome is the devil's spawn, the enemy of all that is pure. Esus, Toutatis, and Taranis help me if I do not cast your soul into fire for this!" The old woman was agitated and again broke into a fit of coughing. When the fit was finally over, Gertrude saw a patch of blood on the old woman's lips.
"I pray, do not do that, Sacred Lady," Gertrude pleaded. "Forgive me, but I cannot get him out of my head. I do not wish it, but something draws me to him. I come to you for answers, when I have none. Please don't be angry with me!"
This seemed to calm the druidess, who now paused to catch her breath, all the while wheezing loudly. "I will look for you, my child."
The enchantress then beckoned for Gertrude to follow her, and then led her to a vine-laden spot where a perfectly circular pool of still water lay apart from the rest of the swamp. The hovering mists seemed to steer away from the pool’s mirror-smooth surface. The druidess then produced a crooked branch of oak that had been polished to a shine, and then touched the water's surface with it. Kneeling over the waters, the woman began chanting in the tongue of the old ones, studying each ripple as it expanded to the edges of the pond and returned to collide with others. At one point in the ritual, a drop of blood escaped the druidess's mouth and fell into the crashing ripples. This had a grave effect on the old woman who shrieked and frantically moved away from the pool, as if she had seen something that disturbed her to the core.
"What is it, Sacred Lady?" Gertrude asked. "What did you see?"
"The Roman!" she said, wheezing. "He comes! He cannot be stopped! He brings life to you!"
Gertrude could not help but smile at the prophecy, but then seeing how unsettled the druidess was, she checked herself.
"Surely this is not a bad thing, sacred lady," Gertrude said.
"There is more!” the woman said dreadfully, as if it pained her to recount the vision. “While this Roman brings life to you, for me…for me, he brings suffering and death! I will know a pain greater than that of bearing my child.”
Gertrude was confused by this last as she understood the Druid women were forbidden from having children, but she tried to console the sacred lady anyway.
“Surely not,” Gertrude said. “Surely, there is some mistake.”
“The spirits have spoken!” the woman exasperated. “It cannot be undone!"
As the druidess stumbled away, coughing and ranting and seemingly driven mad by the vision, Gertrude tried not to think on the old woman's part of the prophecy. She chose to focus on the welcome prospects of her own.
She would see the tall Roman again. That was certain. She only now needed to be on the lookout for him.
X
General Balbus tried to hold back a yawn as the four thousand soldiers of the Seventh Legion came to attention in the field just outside the camp. It was another deucedly hot and humid day, one in which the sun was merely a bright blur in the hazy sky, and Balbus, the legate of the Seventh, was extremely uncomfortable sitting atop his horse, flanked by his staff and tribunes. It had been a long night, and he was slightly annoyed at having to rouse out of bed so early on this non-marching day. Last night, he and the other legates had spent most of the evening in the tents of the visiting senators, Valens and Porcius, enjoying an abundance of wine, fresh from Italy, along with music and other lavish entertainments. The wine had flowed freely all night and well into the morning. Now, only a few unmerciful hours later, Balbus’s head throbbed with every sway of his mount. His eyes started to drift shut, but popped open again at the sharp snap of a scroll.
“To General Balbus, commanding the Seventh Legion!” The chief centurion read the document to the assembled ranks, his stentorian voice driving through Balbus’s hung-over head like a pick axe. “You are hereby ordered to bestow the medal of bravery upon Legionary Lucius Domitius of the 9th Century for acts of gallantry in the face of the enemy that resulted in saving the lives of his officer and fellow soldiers. This commendation is to be awarded without delay. Signed, Gaius Julius Caesar, Proconsul of the province and general of the army.”