Innocent Beginnings

I don't think a hero is a special breed of person, or even an untouchable being of unrivaled stature and integrity. I don't think a hero is a glorified god or goddess of the myths that surround and entertain our culture. Even Arthur himself was not out of the ordinary.

That's what a hero is: ordinary. There is the potential in every person alive to be a hero, to triumph over whatever they perceive to be a threat to the general goodness of their world. It seemed to me that there could be neither real goodness nor real evilness. There were only decisions. Surely both sides have equal tails of woe and misfortune. The Saxons, I am sure, believed they had every right to the islands of Britain… perhaps they even believed that they were doing the right thing. If we were not fighting a foreign enemy we would always be fighting each other. Always will the definitions of wrong and right be so different for so many.

I, however, didn't believe in either.

The world where what is wrong and what is right do not matter is the world where a higher understanding has been reached. A world where forgiveness reigns.

The rain came in waves that day. Line after line of incorrigible gray sheets slanting from the heavens to the very ground we trod on. Or more aptly put: the very mud we sank in.

For some un-godly reason Arlene appeared immune to the bogs downward suction as she bounced eagerly along the path between the saturated ferns and brambles. Even after these 10 years it was still so strange to see the child I had known since birth so very excited. Normally she was a wretch of a child, always complaining and finding ways to spurn or generally abuse Brennus and I. Ah yes Brennus, I couldn't help but laugh playfully as I watched him dig handfuls of worms in his gorilla like arms as he swung down the path. Of course he would have to eat them, what else were worms for? Granted, he was but six years of age.

The occasional crow terrified us all by swooping from the increasing number of saturated trees into the clearing in order to pluck the ripe worms from the damp soil. Yet, there were never any signs of the songbirds that somehow still managed to sing on miserably cold afternoons such as these. My black mane clung soaking wet to my forehead. I had never had Arlene's luck in keeping my hair anywhere near respectable, her curls always seemed perfect, even now as they hung down in sodden waves of barley clinging evermore to her back. The thing that did separate me, and was perhaps my only saving grace, were my eyes. They were the kind of blue never before seen on one with such dark hair. It was "unnatural" I was told, but I enjoyed the attention.

There we continued, crashing and bounding along through the windy mounds of shrub towards the huge wall of green that lay ahead. We loved the forest, all three of us. It was a sanctuary. Even on days like this as the branches and leaves were so interwoven that some parts of the floor remained dry and only droplets and the odd streams of water made it from the canopy to our heads. I think we loved it so much because it was a break from the farm life we were accustomed to. On a good day we would try climbing to the top of the smaller fir trees and play games where we were some foreign animals leaping from tree to tree, and Brennus would always take it one step too far and disgust us by eating a handful of pine cones or even squirrel remains. Then we would decide instead to challenge him to a stick-fighting duel, which I have to admit I was rather good at. I always ended up making the other two cry.

Today we nestled into a ditch covered over by lower bushes. It had remained dry and the dust was perfect for drawing in. As long as I kept my wet clothing from dripping onto it that is. I propped myself up against the trunk and began to sketch. The three of us retold stories we had heard from our parents and grandparents. Stories about ladies who lived in lakes, and Arthur and his knights, Boadicea and Prasutagus, and elves and pixies and even more realistic stories of Rome and the great teachers who lived there! I was 10 years old and so full of hope for the future, for the great things I would do, for the knight who would come and believe I was a princess and we would go away together - The same hope that every little girl in the world has had at one time or another.

They say that in order to become an adult you must first be disillusioned…

I supposed my disillusionment started when every barbarian known to man began to use Southern England as a giant doorway. So much for Arthur and his great knights, where were they when the villages burned? So much for magic and elves, if there were magic I would quickly have made myself the greatest shaman of all and ended the struggle. Nothing was real, nothing that I had believed was real. It was funny though, that even in the worst of times I still found myself closing my eyes and wishing for that miracle… wishing that someone had been joking and that there really were knights and princesses and magic… that goodness was real.

The more time I spent watching the elders and men defend our township and the more time I spent listening to the talk of the dying Norse invaders I started to wonder why. Why there needed to be so much blood, so much argument… and over what? Couldn't we agree to live peacefully? No, this wasn't a fairytale.. and we were certainly not standing in a fairy ring. For the older I got the more I was made to fight with sticks, only the play fighting with Brennus became more like practice and the stick became more like metal and before I knew it I was holding the walls with everyone else. I did very little compared to the men but as the years went by and the defenders of our meager citadel grew scarce my role became larger.

I watched myself transform from a rotundity of a floppy haired child to a slender and well-toned chancer. My skill, if we may call it that, with a blade was not remarkable nor did it incite any awe; it was simply a cut and slash style bestowed upon me by swift and careless training. I learned more as I went and by the luck of the draw I lived long enough to learn to wield a sword with some kind of accuracy. The more confident I grew the more I felt as though it would never end and could never end. I had spent so long slinging, ducking, diving, and stabbing that if I were to stop I may just cease to exist altogether.

Arlene had also changed. She was no longer the golden haired princess of the pride, her hair had turned mousy with her teenage years and she had also picked up a sword, though rather reluctantly. I never quite trusted her to live through the days and with what some would call love in my heart, I always stayed close to her. She had a gift for accuracy and if allowed to take her time and be where she chose to be she was far more effective with a bow and arrow. How that happened, I will never know. The way I would always recognize her was by her arrogance and overall demeanor, her personality could never change. Her tongue was razor sharp and her glare could stop a grown man in his tracks… although I contributed her growth in bitterness to the death of a young man she had grown fond of in earlier years. It was only when she climbed into the loft of the stable where I slept soundly in the straw and cried herself to sleep with her forehead on my back that I understood what had happened. I lay wide-awake that night, afraid to move, for fear of disturbing her. It was then that I realized she was family to me.

Brennus was more my family by blood. He had grown into a strapping young man, dark-haired like myself but also a more ruddy colour with darkened eyes. Finally my cousin had grown into his name, he was the raven. He was also my only living relative that I felt any closeness to; we had been raised together in the same cold household with the same strict rules. His father, my uncle Cadeyrn, took over parenting of both of us as my parents had passed on along with his mother. Cadeyrn was now the town's leader both in battle and in life. He was never a particularly loving man but he didn't do either of us badly, he taught us the skills we needed to survive. Nevertheless he taught Brennus how to handle a chariot whereas I had been somewhat neglected in that department. As a moody young girl that had upset me as she who came before us, the great Boadicea had been a remarkable warrior and now it seemed that I could not be trusted to care for myself. Still, later on I realized that perhaps I was better off without a chariot to worry about.

Bad eventually went to worse, I could tell by the way the remaining villagers began to bury beautiful torcs, prime beef and coins in piles beneath the earth; an offering to the Gods that they may provide the miracle we all wished for in the dark. The miracle never came. The Saxon invaders pushed many tribes back into the hills where they remained and I heard tales of others fleeing west. We stayed as best we could, though we were being pushed farther back.

One night I lay quietly on my back staring up at what I could see of the sky from a ring ditch. I could make out a few stars. Arlene sat close examining the atlas of scars blazing out across her torso. A fire burned softly in the distance keeping away the feeding insects for some time.

"Are you tired?" Whenever Arlene said anything it always seemed to come as a command and not a question. I suppose this would have confused anyone else but I was well used to it.

"I suppose. I had a rest earl-"

"I meant of this." Smirking a little I shifted onto my stained elbows to see her a little better. The expression on her face was the same as usual, a mask of stone with dull brown eyes peering hard back at me.

How was I to answer such a question? Of course I was tired but I knew no other life. The Iceni and those who came after had long been defending this front. We farmed and were quite successful traders but now the emphasis was on defending our wealth and lands.

I chose not to reply for anything I said would betray the feeling in my heart. I did not know pain like she did. Arlene would not let it go, something was on her mind.

"I want to end it Aoife. I do. I don't know how… I know I am no Boadicea," I hesitated in pointing out that Boadicea had actually failed and our tribe had almost been completely wiped out in the years to follow. I watched as she kneeled and gazed at the sky with a longing expression as she spoke, "Still, there must be something we can do."

We? Hang on a second I am certainly no incredible fortress. I fight to live a few more hours, not to save a kingdom. If I were in charge, we'd all be dead. I had no dreams or ideas this big, I was the one who sat around praying that someone else would save us. I was not brave or a leader, I was nothing. Never before had I even considered choosing my own fate. "Don't you think so Aoife?"

Still stunned, it took me some time to reply.

"Well, I really don't know what you're getting at…"

She appeared to be frustrated with my apparent stupidity. Was I supposed to read minds?

"I have heard through talk," oh this sounds promising. I fought the urge to roll my eyes, who can trust idle gossip? "That Arthur and his knights reside in the North at Hadrian's Wall. It is said that he is a great King to the Picti, they call him the King of Britons." Where was she going with this? I heard sounds from the surrounding thickets. Though I was more scared of incurring Arlene's wrath than being throttled by whatever was creeping around in the scrub. "Don't you think that if this is true and he were to know the struggle we face that he would help us?"

Somewhat distracted I attempted to keep my eyes on Arlene and away from the trees.

"Yes, I suppose he would." If he exists at all

"Exactly. I think someone should tell him." If it had occurred to me that by someone she meant herself and that by herself she meant both of us I would've 'accidentally' stabbed her right then and there. To go northward really was suicide. We had no horses of our own and it was cold up there, more so than here… and who knew what lay between. Other tribes, enemies, animals… anything under the sun, it was madness to even consider.

"Oh right right yeah, someone should definitely tell him." The noise was becoming increasingly irregular, not like an animal, it was heavier. Breaking more twigs than usual.

"I'm glad you think so because I want you to accompany me on the ride to Hadrian's Wall."

"Oh of course, nothing like a nice tri- what!"

Completely gob smacked I whirled around to stare at her full on. She showed no signs of weakness; she was dead set on this idea. I was going with her whether I wanted it or not.

I was even more horrified to learn that my enemy in the bushes was no more than an oversized rabbit. Probably an escapee of Crazy Bryanna's, she liked to feed up animals and then eat them, pointless really because not many people enjoyed eating yellow lumps of fat.

"Are you completely mad, woman!"

My outrage and caustic remarks went unaided. She really was a fortress, she cared not what others thought and showed less emotion than the most seasoned warlord. The following morning she awoke me early and talked me into stealing horses. I managed to steal the stupidest horse of the bunch and I named him Chance, in honour of my own pathetic state. He was a tall beast, far too tall for me but I was a desperate thief, and he was mismatched… his coat was like the burnished sun and his mane was as black as mine. He would do me just fine.

I wanted so badly to say goodbye to Brennus but I knew that we would return in a few days when Arlene realized what utter nonsense this trip was. She was sure to become frightened if I told her enough stories and once we met our first scuffle with a neighbouring tribe she would be sure to want to come back home. Yes, I would see Brennus in good time and be properly punished for stealing… and maybe flogged a little if I were lucky.

"Hurry up!" A harsh whisper interrupted my reverie as I watched my hut in the half-light of the morning. I had never left my home before; this was a new feeling to me. I wanted to hold on to it. Realizing I would rather not have her abandon me to the wolves I hurried after her with what little food I had gathered and we set off before the majority of the people had time to realize that we were missing… before I had time to realize we were missing.