A/N: I feel like I should put on a warning note, here: I am not afraid of having bad things happen to my heroines. This isn't a tragedy, however; all things pass.

Celtic Ceili: Turning Points

The next few weeks passed in the proverbial whirlwind, as Rhosyn settled into life in the Iceni clan as if she'd been born to it. They all worked the various tasks of farm, field, bay, and hearth in the morning, then each afternoon gathered at the practice arena for mutual lessons in sword, spear, and basic Akido. None of them became an expert in the others' martial art by any stretch of the imagination, but Rhosyn did progress in their language, until she could chatter away with Boudicca's two daughters almost as fast as they did, and with just as much laughter. The life may have been hard and primitive, but it was also full of song, beauty, friendship, and joy. She refused to tell them about her past, however – not that they would have believed a bit of it – saying only (once she learned the words) that she was on a quest, led here by her goddess from a distant tribe. This, the Iceni understood, and let her be. All would be revealed in the fullness of time.

She did learn the identity of the Roman whose escort had brought her here: the Procurator, Catus Decianus. Apparently (as Fedelmid whispered to her late one night), a few years earlier Prasutagus had borrowed money from several Roman sources, when he'd seen the way the wind blew and became a client king of the Roman Emperor. Now the money was all spent, having imported better farming tools, good breeding stocks of pigs, cattle, and horses, even timber for piers and houses from the Catuvellauni lands to the west (the Iceni having no good forests of their own). His people's lives were undoubtedly better, and many had begun acquiring jewelry and other items of more intrinsic value, but there was no cash money to begin repaying the loans. Catus Decianus kept assuring him that it was no problem, but something in the man's manner left everyone uneasy about the prospect – especially Boudicca, who had never trusted him from the start, and had argued against the loans.

The joyous time came to a crashing halt, however, the morning Boudicca woke the entire village with a piercing, keening wail: Prasutagus had died without warning in his sleep.

Over the course of the following week, Rhosyn met many of the Iceni, as the entire countryside seemed to converge on their village for the funeral rites for their dead king. Boudicca stepped into the role of leader, in accordance with Prasutagus' will, which left his kingdom jointly to her and the Roman Emperor in hopes of securing the tribe's future. Rhosyn was not the only one with a twinge of fear for that future, even if she was the only one with sure foreknowledge of the looming disaster; she kept that to herself, making her own plans in secret.

Four days after his death, Prasutagus' body was given to the flames on a massive pyre out in the delta. Thousands of his people witnessed and mourned, standing silently in small boats and on every dry hillock within a half-mile, while Boudicca and her daughters sang the farewell songs. Rhosyn, standing still and silent behind them, let her tears flow freely for the man she'd come to respect for his wise leadership and genuine warmth and curiosity about the world.

The next morning, heads still pounding after the huge funerary feast the night before, the converged tribe began dispersing back to their homes, and life tried to return to normal. Rhosyn spent the next few days as close as she could to Boudicca and the girls – not difficult, as she had been accepted into their family, and that family naturally stayed together while processing their grief and trying to return to a normal life. So the four of them were a fair distance from the village, gathering crabs and eels from their traps in the marshy delta into their little punt, when Keridwen frantically hailed them from a distance. She turned and ran back towards the village before they could reach her on the shore, so the four women simply followed as fast as they could, mystified.

As soon as they topped the slight hill between and the village came into view, Rhosyn's heart filled with dread. The tiny hamlet was crawling with Roman soldiers, slashing into each reed house and tossing everything of value into a pair of large wagons, herding the animals into a single pen – and all the villagers into another, at swordpoint. A few of the men – Rhosyn's pupils – showed signs of having attempted to fight the soldiers off: some bloody shirts, a couple of arms hanging uselessly, and one stretched out in the mud, arms and legs akimbo, unmoving. And sitting idly on his horse, watching over all, was Catus Decianus.

Boudicca drew a deep breath and started towards the Procurator, but Rhosyn sprang forward and grabbed the Queen's arm, dragging her around. "Boudicca, no! NO! I beg you, don't go down there! Don't confront him!"

Boudicca's eyes bugged in outrage. "You expect me to stand by while my people are robbed of all their belongings?" she hissed at this heretofore beloved young stranger – suddenly she was reminded just how much of a stranger she was. She jerked her arm out of Rhosyn's grip, restraining herself from adding a slap.

"Please, my Queen!" Rhosyn dropped into formal language. "Please listen to me. If you go there, something terrible will happen! You'll be..." She stopped abruptly, searching her memory for the words, cursing herself mentally for not making the point of learning them. But how do you bring up the concept of such horrible crimes, how do you explain why you're asking?

Boudicca didn't give her the chance. She snorted, disgusted, and turned regally back towards the village, her long legs covering the short distance in long, measured strides – a Queen does not run. Rhosyn had no choice but to follow miserably, trailing resolutely behind Fedelmid and Genofeva, determined to do what she could to protect them, at least.

"Procurator!" Boudicca's voice rang out when she was close enough. "What is the meaning of this?"

Decianus' head turned lazily, eyeing the redhead with contempt. "I do not explain myself to women," he sneered, centuries of Roman misogyny dripping from the word.

Boudicca stopped with a jerk, offended to her core. "Then perhaps you might have the courtesy of speaking to a Queen about the condition of her people," she hissed icily back.

"Rome does not recognize that status," came the shocking reply. "These people are now the subjects of the Roman Emperor, in accordance with your late husband's will."

"That will left these lands to ME, along with the Emperor!"

"As I said. Rome does not recognize the status of mere women. Women are not fit to rule."

Reeling from that shock, Boudicca grabbed at another straw. "Then why does the Emperor seek to strip his subjects of all their worldly goods and throw them into abject poverty?"

"This is not for the Emperor. This is to repay the loans given to Prasutagus by good, upstanding Roman citizens. Those loans have been called in, and must be repayed in full, immediately."

"You said..."

"I said nothing to you, woman! Enough of this!" Now that his decrees had been given, Decianus had no more use for the conversation. "Time to teach you your place!" He gave a signal, which in retrospect must have been prearranged, and several of the Roman soldiers who had been slowly maneuvering around her sprang forward and grabbed Boudicca before she could react. They dragged the shocked, struggling woman to a nearby post and bound her hands above her head, then one used a knife to cut the back of her tunic to her waist.

Coming out of a seeming trance, Rhosyn jerked forward, ready to go to the rescue, but found her way blocked by a line of soldiers. She'd been concentrating so hard on Boudicca that she hadn't seen the remainder of the company form a circle around the action, facing outwards, swords drawn. Yes, this had been planned in advance. Another ring still surrounded the villagers, watching aghast from their paddock, muttering and yelling but helpless to resist.

The Centurion's whip sang through the air and landed on Boudicca's bare back with a resounding crack, but she refused to scream aloud, swallowing the sounds as best she could. Again and again, until her back was crisscrossed with bloody stripes from the dozen lashes. When they finally stopped, all that could be heard were muffled sobs from the watching Iceni.

Rhosyn was transfixed, horrified, unable to think. It's one thing to read about someone being whipped to a bloody pulp. It's quite another to actually see it happen, a dozen yards in front of you, to someone you loved and admired. And so, her planning came to naught, for she hadn't seen the three soldiers sneak around behind her and the girls. Another signal from the Procurator, and a rock descended on her head, and the world went black.

^..^

Genofeva's scream from somewhere nearby brought her groggily out of one kind of darkness and into another. She turned her head towards the sound, but it was stopped by the leg of an overturned stool. She was lying on her back on the rough straw-strewn floor of one of the houses. More screams, from two throats – Fedelmid? – and she tried to get up to go to them – just as she realized her clothing was being cut away. Then her old would-be captor Flatface was on top of her, and her screams joined the others.