Something my father told me before he died is that peace is like a tree.  It starts life as a tiny seed of hope that things could be better if only those at odds would work together to reach solutions.  With the right amount of water and good climate, a tree spreads thin, seemingly weak threads of roots into the soil.  As time goes on, it sprouts up from the ground, reaching for the sun's light to make it stronger.  All the while, the roots grow thicker and longer, embedding the tree firmer in the terrain.  Wind and rain and fire may seemingly destroy the tree from above, but if the roots are solid it will grow again, or seeds from it will take root elsewhere, borne on the winds to new ground. We may not ourselves live to see the long days of the tree, he finished, but the tree lives to see the end of ours and the generations after us.  Peace is that way.  The seeds planted by one generation, if carefully tended and shaped by the elements of those to follow, grow to be the mighty tree of peace for their descendents.  It may take years or decades, but the small threads of understanding take root in the hearts of men and can grow into the mighty oak of goodwill.  And the seeds are then sown in the wanderings and whisperings of those who remember those who planted first.

When those words first fell on ears deafened by hatred and heartbreak and youth, I had considered my father weak and foolhardy.  Peace, I was so sure, would only come by driving the legions out by force, by not making the same mistakes those Celts in the southern regions and the mainland of Gaul and Celt-Iberia had.  But maturity, coupled or reinforced with time among those I would once have disdained, had altered my viewpoint.  I began to realize that my father was a man of vision. 

As, it seemed to me, was Maximus.  It was not an easy thing for Maximus to undo the years of damage caused by mistrust on either side of the Danube. Some of that came directly from his own dealings with the Marcomanni and Quadi and their view of him for the war he had waged against them for years.  Maximus had told me once that Athelgir was a much easier man than his father was to get along with, but even an agreeable person can be stumbled by heartache and anger.  Listening to Maximus' quiet relation of his efforts with Athelgir was as though a mirror were held up to my face to show me what I had missed thinking upon, if only I opened  the shutters of my heart and let the light in.

Athelgir was seventeen winters when he watched soldiers beat his father to the ground and take his life that fateful morning at the Danube.  Maximus related to me that it was a point of pride for the boy that it had taken several to do so, as Bargherus was a fearsome warrior, indeed.  But it was also a matter of anguish for the young heir to his throne, for while Athelgir and his sire may not have seen eye-to-eye on matters pertaining to how their Roman adversaries should be dealt with, Athelgir had adored his father.

Wise beyond his years, Athelgir had desired to understand his enemy better by studying it, educating himself in its language and customs and history. Perhaps centuries ahead of his peers, he surmised that while the army was an immediate threat to the tribes' ability to move beyond fast borders and expand its populace to new territories, the soldiers across the river were simply an agent of a larger problem.  The governing body behind the face of the military machine that held them behind the Danube was steeped in the idea that the world must belong to Rome.  The Germans, like my own people, were ever growing, ever wandering in search of more and better lands to feed and settle their people.  As Julius Caesar had discovered, they were a formidable opponent when stopped.  They might lie low for a time when defeated, but only until their numbers were gathered in strength and power.  Then the march over the river to find a new home would continue.  It was what brought Maximus to Germania so many years previous to the day he approached the Marcomanni chief.  To again drive them back.  Now he sued for peace. 

I wonder sometimes if the irony of that ever struck him.  He never told me, and I did not ask.  As I compared Athelgir's part in Maximus' life to those things I had learned since I was of a similar age and was still learning, I could not help but think Maximus must have considered it from time to time as well. 

How one man against a large world must think as he walks into such a daunting task as facing the son of a man he made war on, to ask audience as he lays out a scheme for the future?  Legend surrounded my master already.  Legend that sprang up from the idea that he had survived death many times and seemed something more than human.  But there was no way to gauge how Athelgir might receive him.  Maximus went alone to meet him.

"Why didn't you bring Valerius and the others?" I had asked, remembering the group of soldiers that had accompanied us weeks before when last Maximus had gone to visit the Marcomanni.  A sizeable number of men, and Maximus had told Athelgir that it had been a larger company than usual.  By how many?  I had accepted only that he went with a few others- a handful of guards, perhaps. It had not occurred to me that he went alone or with only Justinius at his back, when he crossed the river into the territory of the Germans.  Why would Valerius let him go unattended?  It worried me a little. Maximus' head would be a great trophy for any enemy fortunate enough to take it. 

"Well, think about it.  How would one of your chieftains feel about a man who came without a guard, unarmed save a single sword, and not threatening anything but his long-held ideals?"  I knew fully well how I would have viewed it, and smiled in spite of my misgivings.  Courage is a commodity my people treasure dearly.  And a man who shows that level of bravery and trust would be given a high regard indeed, even within the reticent hospitality of the northern tribes. Even if considered a bit daft for putting that much faith in our goodwill. 

When Maximus had finally ended his story, and we spend minutes stealing last caresses and kisses before the trail would keep us discreetly apart, I had quietly lamented to him a regret.  "I wish I could have talked with him."

 "Athelgir?"

 "Aye."

 "Why didn't you say something to me?  I would have arranged it for you."

 "I wish I had known. But we had other business."

"Yes. What would you have talked of?"  He wound a strand of hair around his finger, while I considered my answer.

"Many things.  How to be of two minds more than anything else, though, I think."  I tried to smile but it faded in the advent of admission of my single most fear.  That loyalty divided would be something to suffer throughout my life after.

"It hurts him.  It takes a very strong person to stand in the middle of the road and walk their own path in the face of opposition.  He endures much disdain from his own people.  Many consider him a traitor because they cannot see what could be.  They only see what is.  But still he believes."  My hair forgotten, he pulled me into his chest, resting his chin on my head.  I did not even mind the pain.  

"I almost don't want to leave here," I whispered against his arm, closing my eyes and shutting out the world for as long as I could, taking refuge in the love of my master that then only knew the obstacle of status.

For days, from the moment the gates of the fortress at Vindobona swung shut behind our departure, until we were settled on the transport that took us from the port of Gesoriacum over the channel to Britannia, those lessons that I gleaned from Maximus' telling stayed with me.  We traveled fast and hard, and while I performed all necessary duties perfunctorily, I hardly paid attention to what I was about.  Habit guided my hands while memory and the gnawing fear of what the future might hold kept my brain prisoner, rendering me sleepless and distant from even Maximus and Cassandra. 

The steady whisper of oars turning on the waves and the soft flap of sails in the night breeze serenaded the vigil I took at the prow of the ship.  Julius Caesar wrote that his ships set sail from Gesoriacum at midnight, under a full moon, and arrived at the ninth hour of the day on the beaches of Cantium, the first time he landed on Britannia's shores.  He told of fierce warriors in horse-drawn chariots that made war on his army, almost before they stepped off their boats. He was called back to put down the uprising of Vercingetorix and the druids of Gaul before he could learn our secrets and customs, but left the way open for his successors to complete his task.   Almost a hundred years later, they did, except in the far north, where war and skirmish still waged and thus required the skills of people like Maximus to settle matters and move the tribes into a new period of treaty and quiet cohabitation. 

Scattered among my thoughts was the notion that I belonged to neither side any longer.  I assessed my situation and the options waiting for me when we docked.  For at least a few months more, I would be in the employ of the army and beholden to Maximus for my living.  That was non-negotiable, binding on me because I had not yet earned enough money to purchase my freedom.  Half my wages went to the general every time I received them.  The rest I hoarded away to live on when he let me go.  I was already aware that leaving him as a companion was not a happy thought, even before I had realized my heart's desire to be with the man.  There was nothing for me anywhere else. 

I could not very well go back home and reclaim my little clan.  Eight years had gone by and I was probably forgotten, except by the very old and those that knew me as a childhood friend.  Whoever cared for them now would be less than willing to give up their place simply because I declared it mine.  And if that one was a decent leader, why would I take that away from people who had become accustomed to my replacement? 

And what of staying with Maximus?  Assuming that he wanted me to, he could never bestow his name or privilege upon me and could no more than keep me as a lover.  His Roman laws forbade it. He might own me, but I was still a slave.  So had he been a slave, but his tenure had been pardoned.   He was a citizen again, and it would be scandal.  A man in his position needed a wife of patrician blood and bearing, rather than a provincial woman with dubious history or a woman of an enemy nation.  His future was better served by marrying someone with powerful relatives that could enhance his ability to do what he set out to do by assuring him allies.  That notion sent pain to my heart, but it was truth and the wisest course for him to take. 

He was determined to see to the situation in the north after his work in Eire was done.  Without doubt, it would involve more warfare and treaty, as well as years of work and negotiation to secure the tribes above the Wall.  If I stayed with Maximus, I would be drawn in the middle of it all by virtue of my birth and relations if not being by his side, and would be torn in half.  What if I used my blood ties to mediate between them and bring them to understand each other?  Could I, like Athelgir, stand tall and unafraid of the contempt and ridicule that would surely follow me as I went about my way? It was all empty speculation, I knew even as I pondered.  The future is always in motion. Those matters kept creeping upon me, though, the closer we drew to my homeland. 

From where I perched on the foredeck, I could see the walls of white chalk at Dubris, several leagues away.  The moon showered them in her light, imperturbable and ghostly over the line of the water.  The twin light towers at the top of the cliffs beckoned the transport in, their flames burning brightly against the stars and signaling the direction.  In a few hours, my feet would touch ground on the shores of the lands my people called Pritani.  Britannia.  I shivered, but whether it was from cold or anxiety was not clear to me.

The weight of Maximus' arms and cloak as they enveloped me in warm protection against the chill autumn air brought me from reverie.  I lay back against his chest, content to share the silence of the night with him, happy in the solitude of knowledge that there was no such thing as Roman or Celt between us in those moments.

"You should sleep a while," he whispered.  I had tried to rest in his cabin, stretched beside him on his bed, letting the rocking of the waves carry me to slumber.  Failing that, I had crawled over him and tiptoed around Cassandra and Lupa to let myself out of the room and up to the deck to sit and think.  Excitement and uncertainty had created insomnia that plagued me, despite the exhaustion of weeks of worry and little sleep.  

"I can't."

"We're almost there.  I won't let you miss anything."

"It isn't that."  I felt him nod against my ear, and was silent while I played with his fingers where they clasped over his forearms as he drew me tight against him.  There was no need to explain my apprehensions to him and the wrenching of my heart at the prospect of returning to the isles.  He had understood when we left Rome that the day would come and it would hurt me, at the same time that it caused me great joy.  Even if not for the reasons that it did now.  

"Boudicca," he began and then waited a beat.  Of my own accord, I turned to look at him expectantly, studying his profile in the night's illumination.  His gaze was drawn toward the flickering torches ahead, then over the water before he finally continued, pressing his forehead to mine. We looked steadily at each other. "I know there are things you don't share with me because they hold great import and it's difficult.  Someday, I hope you will.  Whatever is weighing your heart down; you can speak of it freely to me.  I will hear you."  The words hung suspended between us. 

He had the right to prepare for what could lie ahead.  I could protect him only days longer, until we rode into the boundaries of Carvetii land.   He had given me his trust, and it was on me to give him mine.  I lay my cheek against his shoulder and felt the rhythm of his heart against my neck. It beat steady and true, lulling me into a trance broken only by the shift of our bodies inside his cloak as we snuggled close.  Through the rough wool of his tunic, it pulsed with his strength. 

Tremors of uncertainty took me over, and made my voice shake when I replied. "Days from now, I will not be able to hide my secrets.  I will tell you everything then.  Can you wait?"  Taking his hand in mine, I brought it to my heart and held his eyes with mine, begging time of him though I had no right.  After a brief battle with conflicting needs- to start planning with knowledge he would receive from me, and to let time draw its own agenda, he gently acquiesced and brought my fingers to his lips. 

"I will wait."  

For time that I did not count we stayed that way- nestled deep inside his cloak, gathering strength together to face whatever the gods planned for us. In the hour before dawn, he woke me from dreams to give me time alone to greet the rising of the sun and pray.  I watched him stride away to rouse the others, then turned to the cliffs that already rose high overhead. 

Nineteen winters old was I, when I had last seen this land before me.  Very little older than Athelgir of the Marcomanni, when he gained his father's seat.  Unlike the German chieftain, my heart had burned with hatred and bloodlust, denying me the wisdom to see ways that the future could hold promise.  So the gods saw fit to have me sold into slavery, sending me on a journey that would forever change the way I saw the world, and teach me to judge it for those things not readily visible.  Noble pride was replaced with humility, so that I might learn what my parents and Athelgir had surmised. Had my course in life stayed as it was before the night I was stolen, would I ever have received such knowledge?  Or would I have continued on in my ignorance, letting my pain and refusal to look beyond the obvious destroy my land? 

Each year that had passed since the day I was led away brought me closer to the road to maturity and purpose.  Every event that had shaped my life in captivity was a lamp on the path, showing me something I might need to remember for the lesson contained therein.  Not until I came to Maximus did I truly begin to understand.  Becoming his planted a seed that I would carry with me throughout my life.  If I sowed it well and tended to it, it could grow into the tree of peace that my father illustrated for me.  How that would happen remained to be seen. 

But the vision came to me that morning, borne on the light of the sun as it peeked over the eastern horizon, bathing the white walls ahead in soft, rose-gold hues.  The gods never failed to tell me their reasoning, when I listened to their voices.  In the morning wind that picked up tendrils of my hair and blew through the pines that waved gently high above, I heard the thunder of their joy as I stood once more in their presence.  Tears stung my eyes as their whispers echoed within the depths of my heart.

"We have been waiting for you, daughter of the Celts.  And now you are home."