Tale of the Druid Queen

Professor McFarlane, considered by many in his field to be Britain’s foremost historian on the Roman occupation of Britain, had lost track of time. The supper he had heated up earlier in the microwave was now back to room temperature as it had been forgotten in the microwave for hours. His wife had long ago stopped texting him to find out when, or if he was coming home, and had given up on seeing him this evening. She never worried though; it wasn't uncommon for him to get caught up in his work and only realize the next morning when the cleaning crew arrived that he had been working all night.

DCI Jack Corbin, the inspector running the investigation for Scotland Yard, reached out to McFarlane over the recent death of a vagrant, identified as Henry Smith, whose body was found in an abandoned building in the borough of Tower Hamlets a week ago. The gruesome discovery of Smith’s naked, roughly torn and dismembered body, had fully occupied the London tabloids and captivated the city. Speculation ranged from crazy theories about him being the victim of ISIS Islamic radicals in a “no go” area, to a former Russian mafia boss living off the grid since running afoul of Putin. The latest gossip was that he was a guard at Buckingham Palace and had blackmail material implicating the royal family. Adding to the intrigue was the crime scene, and how his remains ended up in their dismembered condition. Everyone knew of the details because unscrupulous members of the Central East BCU - Metropolitan Police Service sold copies of the investigation pictures to the tabloids. With the crime’s proximity to White Chapel, and the public’s thirst for crime drama, all of the recent headlines across Britain have been “A New ‘Jack the Ripper’ Roams London.”

A week ago, a few days after the body was discovered, DCI Corbin’s team discovered a small, rundown, council house flat where the recently deceased had been squatting. After going through Mr. Smith’s belongings, the investigative team had gathered up a host of items found hidden under the floorboards and now had a most interesting array of artifacts, which was sent to the Department of Classics and Ancient History at Warwick University. At any given dig site, the items sent to McFarlane would have been a major historical find, but even more impressive was that the condition of these items were immaculate. Armor, coins, legionnaire boots, a centurion gladius, combs, utensils, a bag of signet rings, and so much more. The condition of all of the items was so pristine that they were first believed to be replicas, possibly stage props. But after radiocarbon dating, mass spectrometer analysis, and comparisons to known items previously discovered, all were found to be authentic Roman artifacts from approximately 50 AD.

Now every scratch, wrinkle, texture, or discoloration on an item consumed McFarlane. Tonight he was studying a unique scroll included among the items, and translating the Latin writings contained inside. The vellum document was well taken care of, but the writing had faded in spots, which wasn’t uncommon for ink of the time. Typically made from glue or some sort of gum, soot, and water, better inks started to be used around the 5th century with the addition of iron salts and tannic acids. Other writings in the cache were mostly mundane: food inventories for a northern British outpost on Hadrian’s Wall, party invitations, two fish recipes, an infirmary listing of soldiers, letters from a wife to a soldier in Camulodunum, and commendations for valor. This last scroll was what caught McFarlane’s eye—a testament meant to be sent back to Rome from a Centurion named Henricus Britainicus detailing a mission he undertook.

This is my testimony on the 4th day of Aprilis in the year of 61 A.D.

My name is Aisus of the Atrebates tribe, but I am now known as Henricus Britainicus. I was originally of noble birth in the Atrebates tribe, but when our king, Verica, died and was succeeded by Cogidubnus of the Regni, a tribe with whom my family had a long standing feud, we were outcast and stripped of our titles. My family destitute, I was sold into indentured service to the Roman army to help them escape their debt, but I would later learn that my father and older brother were betrayed and poisoned by agents of King Cogidubnus. With no one left, my mother committed suicide, and I could not avenge their deaths because I now served the interests of Rome.

The officers found me useful, I understood the land, the different tribes, who they feuded with, which gods and demons they feared, when their holidays were celebrated, but most of all, I could speak both Latin and the languages of this land. I dedicated myself to being a good Roman soldier, patiently waiting to get revenge on the Regni, and I began to move up the ranks. As the Roman trust in me grew, so did my stature in the army. I started as a lowly foot soldier, a Tiro, but quickly moved up to principal and, after being recognized for bravery in the north against the Picts, I was commissioned as an officer and rose to the rank of Primus Pilum - First Spear.

My new position had me leading a cohort of legionnaires defending the Camulodunum, a large city of mostly women, children, and retired soldiers who turned to farming in their waning years. Then there was talk of a revolt by the Iceni and Trinovantes tribes, so I was ordered to take a contingent of 50 legionnaires north into Rendlesham Forest, find the Druid Queen Elanor, and ask for her help in quelling her sister Boudica’s growing rebellion.

Many in Britain thought Elanor to be a myth. As the story goes, she was given at birth to the Druids by her father, Antedi, a major clan leader, and in return the Iceni would experience peace and great prosperity in riches over the other tribes. Afterward, she was referred to as a mythical demon to scare the other tribes and explain the unexplainable. If another tribe had a dispute with the Iceni, that tribe’s king would experience a mysterious, but always gruesome, death. If someone disappeared, if you heard unexplained noises at night, if you wanted your children to behave, you brought up the name Elanor.

Into the 19th day of searching for her, I ordered the men to camp in a clearing near the sacred groves of the Iceni war goddess Andraste. It would have been a grave insult if we would have entered, and if I ever found her, nothing I said to Elanor would have helped our mission after our desecration.

Late in the evening I was awakened by a scream in the camp. I sat up, startled, and found a woman sitting next to my bed. She was small in stature, had short blonde hair, and combed through it was the white lime paste that many of the tribes kept in their hair. In the candle light I could see where she had covered her skin in dyed patches of a greenish tint, a reddish ring around her neck, she wore a small looped piercing in her nose, and there were woad symbols drawn all over her body, symbols that were meant to give her unearthly power. Blood dripped off of her mouth and chin, and sanguine flecks caused by arterial spay covered her. She looked every bit like the demon that they described, yet through the gore and paint her captivating beauty was still apparent. She was both terrifying and lovely.

“Greetings centurion,” I heard in a melodic and pleasant voice. It contained no malice or scorn and her tone would have been no different if our paths had crossed in the market.

She was nothing like I expected because Boudicca, her sister, was far different than the woman in front of me. Boudicca was taller than most men, thick-framed, had red unkempt hair that hung below her waist, and liked to bark orders to everyone in a deep and harsh voice. She wore a large golden necklace, called a torc, that signified her position, a bright and colorful tunic, and wrapped herself in a thick cloak fastened by a broach. She was most terrifying in appearance and had a piercing stare that cut through your soul and left you exposed, and despite all of the differences, that same stare was cutting through me as I sat in front of Elanor.

“It would seem as though you are late centurion. The city of Camulodunum was sacked last night, burned to the ground, and the inhabitants sacrificed to the goddess Andraste. You have failed in your mission,” Elanor says to me in an emotionless and nonchalant way as she looks around my tent. In a quick motion she turns to me and asks, “What should I do with you, Aisus of the Atrebates, a traitor to the tribes of Britain?”

Before I could answer, the pupils of her eyes took on an odd elliptical shape and she instantaneously transformed before my eyes into a wolf-like beast before biting my neck. It burned where she tore into my flesh, and blood covered my sheets. It happened so fast that I couldn’t comprehend what was transpiring in this moment. I started to lose consciousness but remember her words clearly. “I cannot kill everyone in Rome centurion, but I can send you there in my stead. If you want to live further, you will leave this island and go to the land of your masters. Every full lunar cycle you will become my beast and exact the vengeance in Rome that I cannot do from here. Although I cursed you with lycanthropy, I am also giving you the gift of life and immortality, centurion.”

I do not know how long I was unconscious but I awoke in the same clearing where we camped. The camp had been taken down and all of the equipment was missing. My men hung by ropes upside down from the trees on the perimeter of the clearing with their chests and throats torn open like they were attacked by a bear. I gathered all of the rings signifying their families and have included them with this testimony.

McFarlane took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. Thinking he heard a noise, he opened his eyes and turned, to find himself staring into the same eyes that Henricus looked into 2,000 years before.

“You may hand that to me professor. Aisus, Henricus, or Henry, as he had been calling himself lately, was warned never to come back to Britain. He lived an extraordinary existence after I sent him away, going on two crusades, fighting in Italy’s city state wars, helping to build the Duomo in Florence, traveling the Orient along the Silk Road, flying in a balloon with the Montgolfier Brothers, fighting the natives in the New World, and even served as a bodyguard for Mussollini. He became very good and managing his gift through the centuries, but he never truly accepted what I gave him, and only saw the cursed side.”

McFarlane stared at Elanor, their eyes locked and he was unable to turn away. Frozen in front of her with both fear and curiosity.

She continued. “He came back to Britain thinking if he could kill me that he would lift the curse I had placed on him.” She paused, smiled slightly, and looked deeper into McFarlane’s eyes. “It didn’t go as planned, and now, in exchange for that scroll, I have a gift I want to give you, professor.”